To Endure, To Love
by MortalShadowhunter
Summary: In a futuristic world where women are mere slaves that men are given to own, Tessa Gray finds her life skewed when she is placed with the ever torturous William Herondale. In the midst of his brutality, lust and confusing mix of devotion and kindness, she struggles to find love, leaving her wondering if he truly is broken beyond repair. Slightly OOC. AU. Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hey guys! This is an experimental fanfiction that I will be doing... :) I really hope you enjoy it. It will have more spontaneous updates depending on how popular it gets or what I feel like. :)**

**Until then,  
MortalShadowhunter**

His head is bowed slightly when he fastens the tie at my neck closed. There is shame in his eyes and there is sorrow, but I pretend not to see it because I must be strong for him. His hands are light and hesitant on the clasp of my dress when he sets it into place, his hair falling over his face. When he finally does look up, I can see that his bottom lip is bitten and his eyes are dark with grief, his fingers lingering over the sash at my throat. Only then do I let my guard crumble.

"Whatever will I do, James?" I cry, trying not to muse the delicate makeup that adorns my eyes. "I can't do this. Not if it means losing you."

"I will not be lost, Theresa." Jem whispers, leaning forward and cupping my face, a ghost of his lips across my cheek. "You will merely not see me." When I bury my face in his neck, he presses his hands flat to my back. "I am sorry."

"Me too." I murmur before pulling away when the doors open. When he moves to curve my hand around his arm in an instinctive gesture, he walks me out into the hall, my legs shaking and my hands jittery. I finally allow myself to see with opened and clear eyes, my fingers digging into his shirtsleeve.

The first thing I notice is the crowd.

There are men of all ages, their eyes hungry and feasting upon us like a vulture might flock over a rotting carcass. And then I see the women and their escorts. They are all young and pretty and anger wells up in me when I see my friends. Cecily, Sophie, Bridget, even Jessamine; they all have their hand looped around their escort just as I have mine looped around Jem's. But to us, they are all more than just escorts.

We are all led to a room where we stand in a pretty row, my heart dropping at the sight of all the men and teenage boys.

I feel exposed in my simple cut, short dress; eyes are wandering, nasty things. They are snaking up my dress and down the neckline in scrutiny as if to measure my worth. Families from the Aristocratic Class are sitting in the rows and rows of luxurious chairs that line the enormous room; they are hoping that their son gets the prettiest girl. That prettiest girl, I know, is Jessamine. She is a doll; blond curls, tiny waist, and more experience than the rest of us. Though I consider her my peer, she sickens me. Nausea rises in my chest and I wobble, but Jem holds me up and is there to help me keep my balance.

He has always been there.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his breath rustling my hair.

"No."

"Do you need something?"

"To be away." I say simply, though I know he cannot grant that wish. Instead, he clasps his other hand over mine, but he gets a murderous stare from our Owner. Our Owner, more commonly known as M, is the one who purchased us, dressed us, taught us, and raised us. However, he is also the one who whipped us when we rebelled and hit when we were affectionate to our escorts. He also sickens me.

Now he is dressed in a suit, stepping up to the podium as the last of the girls are lined up beside us. "Today is the day of the First Ceremony." He announces, his voice silencing the rest of the room. "Our society, as strong as steel and enduring as a stream, is built on this one day where each young suitor is placed with their One that they will be with for as long as they both shall live. Shall we begin?"

An erupt of eager voices erupted from the crowd, each craning to get a look at the rows of girls. Jem glances over at me. "You look awfully pale."

"I am worried." I say, my fingertips brushing against his dark suit. "It is the way of the Commoner Class. It has been that way for as longs as I can remember."

"It doesn't have to be." Jem opens his mouth to say something more but he stills when the Owner starts talking again.

"Cecily Herondale, Gabriel Lightwood." They join each other in the middle before bowing to the audience of families, excited cheers coming from the Lightwoods. Sophie is next; she is put with his brother. I know that she is discouraged when the Lightwood family is silent, but she tries not to show it. Next is Bridget. She's not the prettiest, but she's deadly smart and amazing around the house. When she is put with Cyril Tanner, I know she will be happy. "Jessamine Lovelace," M says finally, the chatter of the Aristocratic Class growing to a soft buzz. "Nathanial Gray."

I freeze.

My brother gets Jessamine Lovelace? They both look overjoyed as they embrace in the middle, bowing at the families before joining the other placed couples. "You are next." Jem tells me. My heart is filled with hate.

"Theresa Gray." The Owner pauses, mirth dancing in his eyes. "William Herondale."

I can feel myself breaking. When I look over at William, his eyes are cold and filled with lust and deadly poison. Herondales are the last suitors any woman would want to be paired with. His sister, Cecily, is pleasant enough but awful rumors lace the towns about her brother.

The warmth of Jem's arm leaves my hand as I step forward, my heart thumping brokenly as I count my steps.

William looks malicious. He is known for his brutality. His face is too close to mine when he introduces himself.

"William Herondale." He says softly, his eyes boring into my soul.

"Theresa Gray." I answer, my voice blank. He offers me a hint of a smirk, taking my hand roughly and forcing myself into a bow. I do so mechanically and I follow him. When I look over at Jem, my mind processes nothing. I feel nothing. I understand nothing.

How can I learn to love William when I know it will be torturous to even endure him?


	2. Chapter 2

"Fix your makeup." William orders me, gesturing at the train restroom. "You look like a mess." My eyes are stained with tears and I taste blood in my mouth, but I obey him, standing up and grabbing what little personal supplies I have as I head to the restroom. Though we are riding in first class, it doesn't feel welcoming. It is riddled with lust and sickness of the mind. I choke down nausea.

The restroom is white. White is the color of purity and yet, I cannot help but feel more violated than ever. Looking up at the mirror, I cringe at my own reflection. He is right. I do look like a mess.

Cleaning up the eyeliner that smudged on my bottom lid, I reapply eyeshadow, hoping that it will cover the redness of my eyes. I miss Jem already. He is safe and security is what I need more than ever at this moment, but I know that I will hardly ever see him and, when I do, he will have a new girl to look after. He will forget about me, but I still hope he doesn't. When I manage to messily wipe the black smears away, I gather my items and head back to where my Master is.

William disgusts me. When I sit back down, his hands are roaming and his fingers are at the hem of my dress, too close to pulling them up for his own satisfaction. I don't stop him though. That is what the Commoner Class women are for. Satisfaction. The Owner always said to obey our new Master, no matter what they wanted. Though he said this, I am still reluctant. I am not yet filthied by the wants of men. Though Jem is of the opposite sex, he wants for nothing and gives everything. Only he is an exception. When I look over at William, my blood runs cold every time. He just stares, never truly smiling or happy, but always smug and looking for trouble.

His father is hardly any better, but is too busy with political and economical power than the modesty William held for women. William has gotten everything and has still wanted for more. Damn money. Damn him. Damn everything.

When the train finally does stop, he grabs my wrist hard, pinching the skin until he knows that it must hurt. And it does, but I don't let it show.

His breath is hot in my ear when he leans forward, catching my chin and jerking it towards him. "You will not speak unless spoken to. You will be on your best behavior. You will not embarrass me. Do you understand that?"

I look up at him. How can someone so beautiful and so young be so tainted. "Yes." I choke out.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Master Herondale."

He forces me off the train and onto the white, sleek floor that slides beneath my shoes. Everything is white and glowing, cuts in the walls showing the great vast of London beneath us. I have read about what London used to be like. It was dirty and loud and bustling with people, but it was free. It seems as if in my age, we have all been divided into two major Classes: the Aristocrat Class and the Commoner Class.

Men and their wealthy families mostly make up the Aristocrat Class; few women are ever part of that group without marrying into it and becoming accepted. The Commoner Class is made of rebels and young women that are becoming ready to enter the Ceremony.

Jem is lower than the Commoner Class but it is only because he tried to help me escape. He risked his life to teach me hidden tunnels and snuck us out, but we were caught. Still, he tried.

William's house, I realize when he presses his hand to the automatic sensor, is more like a palace than just an actual house. He's rich. Of course he would live in an extravagant house. A small light flashes under the pad of his hand and the door clicks open, revealing a long, bright hall that leads into the main dining room. It's all enormous and I have never seen something so wealthy before that it makes me feel dizzy.

"It is customary that my family meets you on the day of the Ceremony." Will says, his voice edged with hate. "Dinners are tiresome things but you will behave."

I lower my head. "Yes, Master Herondale."

"You mustn't engage yourself in conversation, as it will be too complex for you anyway since you are a Commoner Class woman."

"Yes, Master Herondale."

"And you will not, under any circumstances, do anything to express even a small twinge of discontent towards my father or anyone who speaks to you."

"Yes, Master Herondale." The words are bitter on my tongue like the water I am forced to drink when he pushes me into my seat. As soon as the people start coming into the room, I realize that this is no happy gathering. A tall, broad shouldered man, who I assume is William's father, shakes his son's hand, their eyes locked together in a competitive stare. William's father looks over at me, evaluating me up close as he did from afar. Finally he laughs, coldly and humorlessly as he glances over at William.

"And how long do you expect her to last?" He asks, moving over to his son.

William narrows his eyes. "At least longer than the rest. I am tired of cleaning up the blood and bodies. It is not the work for someone of the Aristocratic Class."

Blood? Bodies? Am I not his first?

William's father laughs again. "You cannot stop them from using their own hand to embrace their death. You still didn't take precautions with that other girl. What was her name?"

"I don't remember but she was a fool and not at all attractive. I don't care about her." Turning to me, Will clasps his hands in front of him. "She is plain, but she will do for now."

"It doesn't matter. I have more important things to worry about than your One."

"Of course, father," Will hisses, "go back to protecting this fine, fine city of yours. I'm doing quite fine." Sitting down next to me, his eyes are bleak and angry when the rest of the people sit down. They don't appear to all be his family, though. Allies and business partners, I assume.

His hand is over mine when he stares blankly at his father, digging his nails into my skin and leaving marks as if to claim ownership. I wince once when they break skin, drawing small pinpricks of blood, but then the pain ebbs away and everything else is numb. I am used to pain. The Owner made sure of that. Though no one speaks to me, I can feel them judging me by how the anxious buzz in the room grows louder as I look around.

That's when I turn sharply and I spill my water glass. It seems to fall in slow motion as I watch it meet the ground and shatter. The room silences and looks at me.

The water seeps into the indents in the floor and I can feel my hope draining and breaking like the glass that lays frozen on the floor.

William's eyes are wide and he is fuming, his hand tightening wound my wrist and yanking me out of my seat, out into the hall, into a room where his dam of rage overflows.


	3. Chapter 3

The back of his hand meets my cheek like a gunshot, my face heating up in pain. "What the hell was that?" His voice is sharp and edged with vexation as he shoves me into the room, slamming the door behind him. "Are you purposely trying to embarrass me in front of my _father_?"

"It was an accident." I say feebly, shrinking back and raising a hand to cover my face. It wasn't really that catastrophic, was it? My back presses against the wall and I brace for a strike that, to my surprise, never comes. Instead, he just stands there with one hand braced against the wall, looking down at me as I sink down. His breath catches in his throat and, for a moment, he just stares, his blue eyes narrowed. I wrap my arms around myself, blinking back hot tears. "I'm sorry. It was an accident. I didn't mean to-"

"Don't speak," he snarls, grabbing my arm painfully and wrenching me up, "unless you are spoken to." His face is close to mine; too close until I can see the murderous and greedy glints of blue and gold in his irises.

"Yes, Master Herondale."

"You will go back inside and act as if nothing happened because you are _nothing_. You understand that?"

"Yes, Master Herondale." I whisper, trying to hide the hatred and grief that laces my voice. When he lets go of me, I stumble to my feet, trying to remain balanced. Hanging my head in embarrassment when he leads me back into the room, he glares at me before joining into conversation and talk about the protection of the city and funding to organizations. When I look up from my plate of cold food, I see two, dull blue eyes staring at me. She was a startlingly beautiful woman, I imagine, though age has worn away her black hair and blue eyes. She doesn't appear as threatening, though she looks at me as if I am under her. Mrs. Herondale, I remember, is one of the few women to ever climb the social ladder.

I glance back down to stop myself from staring, but she moves closer, her modest and age-appropriate dress shimmering in the light as she makes her way over to my side. I stand, bending into a small curtsey and raising my eyes to see her expression that tells me whether I have bowed low enough. She looks content. Straightening my back, I look at the floor. "You are the new One, aren't you?" Mrs. Herondale asks, a black curl with touches of gray falling over her face.

"Yes'm."

"How are you liking it here?"

"I'm overjoyed, ma'am."

Her eyes harden. "We don't tolerate liars."

"It is a lovely estate." I say instead. She looks satisfied.

**~~ooo~~**

"You will sleep in here," William orders, a hint of exasperation in his eyes, "until I figure what to do with you."

"Yes, Master Herondale." I look around the room, running my hand across the covers of the bed. Never had something so luxurious been mine to use before. I bite my lip. "May I ask a question?"

"What?" He snaps impatiently.

"Whose room was this?"

He doesn't look at me or speak for a long time. "Why should you need to know?"

"I was just wondering." Damn curiosity as well.

His top lip curls into a sneer. "Better keep your _wonderings _to yourself, then, Theresa."

"Please, just call me Tessa." I say. I don't want him to taint my real name with his heartless words and filthy habits. "It suits me better."

"I will call you what I want to," he answers, burning holes into my eyes. Turning around, he clicked off the main light, leaving the lamp next to my bed the only one illuminating the room. "Go to sleep, _Tessa_. You will not leave the room unless I give you permission. Do you understand?"

I pause, lowering my eyes. "Yes, William."

"_Master Herondale._"

I sigh. "Yes, Master Herondale."

When he finally leaves, I throw myself onto my bed, inhaling the soft lavender scent. It feels so comfortable and makes my eyelids droop with exhaustion, but it feels wrong. This is not my bed. My place is in my small place that I share with Jessamine and, even though we were poor and had strict limitations that our Owner gave us, we were close nit. And then there was Jem. There were hours of him sitting by my side as he waited until I fell asleep, hours of him providing a shoulder to cry on as the day of the Ceremony ticked nearer, and hours of time spent at night whispering about past memories and dreams that were once used and never again to be found.

I know sleep will not come easy, but I find a nightgown in one of the drawers and I strip myself of my Ceremony clothes. Silky against my skin, the nightgown is refreshing but a little tight. Then again, that was probably a mistake Will made on purpose. Slipping under the covers, my fingers ached for a book.

There had been many times when I had traded with the other girls books for everyday house things like towels, pillows, blankets, makeup, or clothes. When we were placed at the Ceremony, we were only allowed to bring bare necessities. All of my books that I had gone to such great lengths to earn were gone.

Everything that I had once known was ripped away from me: the comfort of books, Jem, my room...my peers.

It is only when I turn the lamp off that I press my face into my pillow and finally allow myself to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

"We have been getting more attacks in eastern London."

"We've just expanded. There ought to be more people outraged at us Aristocrats because they believe we are weakening their power. There will always be those who disagree with our actions. You must be courteous of this when you take over the estate and get your inheritance."

"The Commoners who rebel are just envious of our wealth. I try to think nothing of it."

"We are sending troops. You must be able to make the best decisions for your city when you own London."

"Best decisions?" William's voice comes more savagely this time, rising to a shout. "What do you know about decisions or protecting the city? You sent our armies out to our home country to trap a few escapees and, instead, you end up murdering the civilians of Wales who did nothing wrong. They were innocent, and you killed our people with one, thoughtless command!"

"Innocent," Mr. Herondale's voice was gruff and surly, cutting through the sickly muggy and dense atmosphere of the room, "is a sallow word to be throwing around in our time. The citizens of our home country allowed for this twisted rebellion to continue. Therefore, they are all at fault. You are being immature. It is a pity that the last of my legacy will be handed off to _you_. I thought you were a better son than that, but you are impetuous and at fault for many things."

"You have no idea who I am. You deserted the family because you were too concerned with setting fires of anger-"

"You too have that flame, William Herondale." Mr. Herondale says at last, silencing his son. "You too will want to burn our enemies. In time, you will learn to destroy and to create and to protect."

I lean against the door too heavily and it cracks open, revealing me as I tumble inside. Will's eyes grow furious again as his father stares at me in evaluation, tapping the table and moving to give Will a stern glare. Will stalks out of the room, catching my wrist and dragging me across the floor and out into the halls. Releasing my wrist, he narrows his eyes. "Why are you screwing around in the halls? God, I tell you one thing and you still don't listen."

Rubbing my wrist, I want to curl up into a tiny ball and disappear. "It's nearly afternoon. I'm sorry, I thought-"

"You thought? You thought you could come out? Look, I don't need you following me. I don't want you following me," he hisses menacingly, "Stay out of my way."

I straighten my back, meeting his gaze. I can tell he doesn't like it that I am but a few inches shorter than he is. He cannot look down at me like I am some child who has gotten into trouble. I feel angry and I know it is worth nothing to hide it. "Out of your way? Why an I even here, then? If you don't want me, then give me back. I don't want to be here either."

"You don't know my father." He says, rage lacing his voice." You don't know what the requirements are for me to be a worthy son. I'm eighteen and he wants me to have some sort of trophy that I can call my own because that is what defines the Aristocrat Class. We own things and thus, we are believed to be powerful. You are _nothing more_ than an accessory. _I _decide your life now. _I _am the one you obey because you're an embarrassment when you act so foolishly. You are just a possession that I must care for and order around from here until death. You cannot escape the fact that you will be fully mine when we are married."

"Married?" My knees go weak and I can feel my hands get sweaty. Wiping them on my gown, I choke on my spit. "Married?"

"Of course." He gives me a loathing stare and makes me feel like a foolish child. "Why else do you think my father wants me to have you? Your brother has high social status and you are his sister. Who else could my father believe possibly suit me than the one and only Miss Tessa Gray?" He pulls me up straight with one hand. "Trust me, I don't want you either, but my image is more important than such petty dreams that I ever had. From now on, you will be my dog and I, your master. You will be my love and you will be the one thing that the public believes I cherish because it makes my family look better."

"I could never love you." I spit, my hands clawing over his but his grip is like iron.

"Funny. I could almost feel the same way." Letting go of the front of my gown, he brushes off the cuffs of his elegant suit. "Clean up, Tessa. We have plans."

**~~ooo~~**

The restaurant we go to is beautiful. It is enormous and lined in satin. The large windows that show the lit city are so clean that it almost seems as if they aren't there. I can see other Aristocrat families as well, sitting and conversing over the Ceremony and the attacks on London, though few seem to be genuinely worried. When I look to the left, I can see Cecily and Gabriel. She looks happy and her smile isn't forced like mine is. Will notices her but doesn't react.

"Sit." Will says, pulling out a chair at a small table. His father and mother settle themselves a few tables away, already ordering their meal and glancing at the restaurant inhabitants.

"Yes, Master Herondale." Giving a defeated nod, I slip into my chair, looking down at the table setting of silver utensils and crisp linen cloths. As clean as everything looks, it disgusts me. Everything about the Herondale family disgusts me. When our waitress finally arrives at our table, I realize that she is a Convicted. Then again, most of the servants I have seen so far are. Her mouth is bound by a blood red cloth and her hair is shorn close to her scalp. I try not to feel nauseous.

"The specialty wine for the both of us." Will orders, resting one arm over the back of his chair. "That'll be all for now." The waitress nods painfully, scars peeking out from the edges of the bindings, before scurrying off to the kitchen.

"Why are we here?" I ask hesitantly, smoothing my dress though there is not much to smooth.

"Because my father wanted to go here."

"Why did he want to go here?"

"So I could show you off to the other families." He frowns. "You ask too many questions. You talk too much."

"I am curious."

"It is harmful to discover." Will says softly, tilting his head slightly. He has mood swings, I assume. He is different from this morning, but still has that underlying hate as if he is a time bomb ready to explode. I just stay quiet. His eyes travel at the see through slits in the side of my dress."You look like a slut."

I ball my hands up into fists by my sides. "I didn't pick out my outfit."

"I wasn't accusing you. I'm simply stating what I believe."

"Ever heard about being quiet?"

He looks at me in displeasure, leaning forward slightly. "I am a Herondale. You are a _woman_ who has so graciously been allowed into my home. I will not stand you talking down to me as if I am a Commoner such as yourself. Consider yourself lucky. Most would have you cast out and labeled you as a Disloyal by now."

"You mean your father would have?" I grimace. "Like screwed up father, like screwed up son."

For a moment, he looks genuinely hurt until a small smirk plays on his lips. He's vying for me to snap. "Feisty, aren't you, Miss Gray?" The waitress returns to our table and places the two glasses onto our table, leaving without acknowledgement. Picking up his glass, Will sips quietly, eyeing me as I don't let my gaze leave his. "Do have some of the wine. I would hate for you to waste it."

"I don't drink."

"Let me rephrase that sentence: Drink the wine I have so generously gotten you, Theresa."

I am tempted to take the drink and throw it at him, but I pick it up and I take a mouthful. It is bitter and dry, but it is my order. Swallowing, I set it down beside my water, watching as the little bubbles rose to the top, popping free from the liquid. "I don't want you."

"I think we have already agreed on that one." Will studies his reflection on the side of the steak knife, pushing a curl of hair from his eyes. "But my options have run out and you are the last one I can ever learn to love."

"Someone like you can never love."

"Actually, I love many things." Will drawled, leaning back into his chair. "Getting laid happens to be one of them. But also hitting things and throwing daggers in my free time."

I cringe and he notices, but he doesn't say anything. "I'm sure that is why every one of your _whores _killed themselves."

He laughs dryly. "You can think what you like, Tessa, but the reason for their death was very different." Giving his father a warning glance, he stood up, looking back at me and holding out one hand. "Say, how would you like to join me on the balcony?"

**Author's Note: Hey guys! If you want to just go over terms that I mention in the story so far, I made a glossary defining each one.**

**Aristocrat/ic Class**: People of high social status. This group mainly includes men and married women. (Will is part of this class).

**Ceremony:** The "auctioning" when the Owner selects the partnership pairings of unwed ladies and unwed gentlemen.

**Commoner Class:** People of low social status. This group mainly includes non-married women and sons of prostitutes. (Tessa is part of this class).

**Convicted:** People who have committed serious crimes such as murder or treason.

**Disloyals:** People who have committed a semi-serious crime such as stealing or smuggling. (Jem is part of this class).

**One:** The woman a man is assigned to. Vice versa.

**Owner:** AKA M. He is the one who prepares young women for the Ceremony. There are other Owners as well, but M is the one who owned Tessa.


	5. Chapter 5

The air is brisk and cool, chilling my legs as I step outside. Walking over to the railing, Will stands poised on the balcony, a true figure of an Aristocrat gentleman. His tailcoat is well cut, if a bit old fashioned, but then again, classic dress is what more and more Aristocrats are learning to appreciate. I don't move over to him because he hasn't ordered me to; I don't want to go near him anyway and I doubt he wants me to go near him as well. He likes to play too many games.

But his games are cruel and he always wins.

Since three days ago at the Ceremony, he has ricocheted between sweetness and rage, toying with feelings of pity, hate, and fear. It is a constant one way game of tag that targets me and only me. When he looks at me in grief and treats me with kind words, he is suddenly behind me to shove me into the darkness. When he pinches at me and leaves purple bruises in places that won't show, he swiftly becomes the apologetic and puppy-dog faced character that hides the real lust and sadistic wants of his soul. He thinks I can't see right through them, but I can. I can see past them too and into the depths of his violence. He is broken beyond repair.

When he does tire from his games, he gloats about his win. He acts like child and is greedy to claim his reward in praises. Though, in many ways, he still is a child. Eighteen is young and he is susceptible to change, but his father has already made known to this notion and taken to shaping him into a younger version of himself. Arrogance and avarice will be one of the many sins they will be judged by.

I hope they fall.

I want them to fall.

Especially Will.

He hates it when I call him Will, but William is too much of a formal name for him. William is too good of a name for him. He doesn't deserve it.

"Tessa." He taps the railing beside him, his voice sharp as if he were ordering a dog to sit. "You look detached over there. It doesn't do me well to have a One who dares not to come close. Besides, George Penhallow is staring at you."

With much reluctance, I make my way to the railing, looking over the edge. A fearful breath stutters in my throat when he jerks me to the side and into the shadows at the end of the balcony. Pulling my arm from his grasp, I hold my wrist against my chest. "It hurts still."

He just laughs coldly. "Good. Commoners like you should feel pain because that is all you are. A pain and a nuisance."

"And yet to have one is to up your worth." I remark, staring over the edge.

"Pity, isn't it? Women are only good for one thing." He smiles maliciously, but I can't see it clearly. It's too dark. "I do hope you won't kill yourself like all the others over me, though. I've grown tired of getting new Ones."

"They killed themselves because you hurt them. You inflicted pain upon them." I say with a strain in my voice.

He laughs again. "Fool. They killed themselves because I did not love them. I cannot love them how they have learned to love me. How can I possibly learn to love a creature so lowly and filthy?"

"No one could possibly love you."

He doesn't answer. He just stands there with a self-satisfied expression on his face. When he looks over at me and sees that I am afraid, a sick smirk spreads across his features. "Do you not like being here?"

"No."

"I am pleased that you feel that way." There are fingers at the bottom of my dress, hiking it up my thighs I shift uncomfortably. When his touch goes too high for my taste, I slap his hand away, immediately regretting my actions when he pushes me against the railing, his arms on either side of me so I can't move. "Bitch. Don't touch me like that, you Commoner." He snarls, ironic to what I was thinking.

"Or what?" I ask, hopelessness invading my tone. "You'll hurt me?"

"Oh, I will hurt you exquisitely and drive you deliciously insane." His lip curls in anger.

"You." I choke out. "You are the insane one."

"Maybe." He laughs heartlessly, the glints in his eyes dancing with anger an mirth. His face is so close to mine, I can feel his breath stirring my hair. I almost think he's going to kiss me in pure malevolence but he leans back, twisting one finger in my curling hair. "You need to go fix your hair. You look like a mess."

He's insane. He's truly insane.

I want to wipe his smug and twisted expression off his face, but I am a woman and I would easily become a Disloyal or even a Convicted for assaulting a Aristocrat Class gentleman. Instead, I fix him with a blank stare and I do what my Master always told me to do and obey. With a small curtsey, I lower my head in shame. "Yes, Master Will."

He moves aside, his chin held high with pride as he leads me back in, gesturing towards the ladies room. For a moment, I almost expect his sick self to follow me inside, but he merely engages in conversation with one of the Aristocrats, giving me privacy. When I lock myself in the stuffy room, I tear out the pins in my hair, letting my brown curls tumble down my back in a thick mess. I am not surprised when Will's father gives me a displeased look, his eyes crinkling in the corners like he cannot stand the sight of me.

**~~ooo~~**

When I am bathed and freshly dressed, I make my way into the library room where I know Will is going to be.

I feel like a servant sometimes, being asked to retrieve him books and fetch him items that are only a few feet away from him, but I have learned to be obedient. As I walk into the library, I am only mutely surprised that he is reading again.

It seems out of place for a boy with such sickness and anger and bitterness in his soul to take a liking to the pleasure of books, but he seems to cherish them almost as much as I do. He is reading _The Moonstone_ again for the fifth time; a favorite of mine. However, when he notices me, he doesn't look up but merely scowls into the pages. "Why are you here? I didn't ask for you."

I ignore him, though, knowing that whatever I say, he will become upset. "You seem to like that book very much."

"Don't you?"

My hand rises instinctively to push my damp hair behind my ear. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't be daft." He says, frowning. "You look at books like they are your only friend."

"In truth, they are."

He gives a forced, clipped sigh. "Commoners. So devoted to the likes of small and cheap items."

"But-"

Holding up one hand, he silences me, a glimmer of frustration glazing his eyes. Pointing at the drawn curtains, he looks up. "Close them. It is dark outside and I can hardly stand to see the bright lights of our city flickering." He smiles when I do as he asks. "You are fitting in quite nicely. Strange. You were so quiet the first couple days you were here. It seems almost impossible to believe that you have only been here for three days."

"You say kind words, and yet, you don't seem to revel in my company." I say sarcastically.

"You are my pawn, Theresa. I am merely the player." He sets down his book, one finger still marking his place. "Life is like a game. You play your pieces and you either win, or you lose. Except in real life, those pieces that are my pawns can betray their Master. However, there is punishment. Do not believe I find pleasure in your company. I merely find contentment in a maid."

"Dear me, I didn't know Aristocrats married maids."

He glares at me. "My mother was one of you. My father expects me to marry a person of your _stature. _Besides, you are a Gray. It is better than having to marry a Collins or a Lightwood."

"Your sister-"

"Is young and foolish. I care nothing for her." Standing up, he doesn't look at me and holds his head so his black hair falls over his eyes. "She is already married to Gabriel Lightwood, a match I hope will burn in hell."


	6. Chapter 6

By the end of the next day, my wrists are ringed with bruises.

They are numb with pain as I slip off my day clothes and turn on the shower. Though the water is cool and refreshing on my skin, it does little to sooth the ache in my wrists. I just push through it, though. And then I tend to the glass in my fingers.

There are blue pricks imbedded in my skin where Will pressed my hand into the glass that I broke, forcing me to pick up each shard off the floor with my bare hand. I try to be more graceful, but I am still clumsy and I keep messing up. I didn't know the sapphire glasses were one of a kind, nor did I know that they were wet from condensation. If I had known, I would have tried to have been more careful. Squeezing the glass from my fingers with painful hisses of air under my breath, I manage to retract some of the glass, blood welling up at the tiny cuts. However, the red quickly washes away in the water, down the drain, and disappears as if it had never been.

Will, I have learned, is cruel.

He is selfish.

Sadistic.

Unpredictable.

Insane.

And broken, like the sapphire glasses. The shards look like his soul; infinitely beautiful, but dangerous to play with or else you will get cut and bleed till the only thing left of you is a dry soul emaciated and famished from reason and raised on neglect. His eyes reflect the glass with the same tint, full of a rage of emotions that I can only begin to pick apart. He is also, I realize, confusing.

The edge of the curtain lifts and I turn away, shielding myself from his hungry eyes. Except then I look at him and he is staring at me blankly, without anger yet without forgiveness. "I am sorry." He says, but he doesn't really mean it. I try to remember that I am playing his sick game.

Turning the showerhead away from me so it isn't misting outside the shower, I glance behind me and I see a pair of deadly sharp tweezers in his hand. "Why are you here?" I ask, my face reddening.

"To tend to your hands." He says simply, sitting down on the edge of the shower and patting the area beside him. I sit sheepishly, crossing my legs and hunching my shoulders, but he takes my hand and picks at my bloodied skin to fish the broken shards from the wounds. It doesn't hurt at first but, as he pushes the tweezers in deeper, more blood runs down my fingers and it feels like fire. Clamping my mouth shut as he extracts a small edge of glass and drops it into the trashcan, he looks pleased at my pained expression.

Again and again, he cuts at my fingers, pulling piece after piece of glass. I don't move and I don't argue, but I want to scream at the pain because I can feel it travel up my arm and electrify my nerves. Even when there are no more pieces of glass that I can see, he still jabs at my raw skin, small paper thin cuts bleeding and dripping into the shower. When he does finally pull away, he looks disappointed. I have won his sick game, he realizes and I know it too. He wants me to react. He wants me to scream, but I bite my tongue until I taste blood and I imagine that the pain is a blessing because it makes me human and my humanity is was distinguishes me from him.

I put on a fake smile. "Thank you."

He scowls angrily but plays along as if my welfare was on his mind the entire time. "Don't mention it." Taking my towel, he hands it to me, ignoring the red that stains the fibers. I take it and hold it painfully to my chest, but I stand up and bite my lip.

"I, uh, still need to shower." I say quietly, leaning against the shower wall. He gives me a curt nod.

"Of course. Put bandages on your hands. They are on your bed." He says before disappearing out of the bathroom. I realize that not once did he ever try to make a move on me.

I don't finish my shower, though. My hands are too painful and too sore and too bloody. Turning the shower off, I manage to brush my teeth and dry my hair tenderly with one hand and wrap my hands in bandages.

I fall onto my bed in exhaustion and pain.

Sleep doesn't take me quickly but it comes nonetheless.

**~~ooo~~**

I conceal my hands with thin, black, satin gloves the next day when we go to the high end marketing street. There are a few Commoners and escorts, I notice, all getting prepared for the next Ceremony. I cannot help but envy them.

We are getting stared at as we walk past; young girls are looking at Will with wide eyes, their mouths slightly ajar with shock. He is handsome, I admit, but is morbid in all the wrong ways. There are some people who look at me with pity, but most are entranced at seeing one of the higher class Aristocratic members walking through their town.

Will is right when he tells me that I am his accessory. I pretend to be happy and I imagine that it is Jem I am walking next to. To my surprise, I manage convince enough people because they seem to look up to him in such an awestruck way. When he enters a shop with assorted items and weapons, he leaves me to my own devices, a freedom that is seldom granted to me. I look around halfheartedly, glancing to the side when I see a familiar face among the throng of people. Pushing past the Commoners entering the door, I barrel into him, pulling him into a dark alleyway.

"James?" I stare at him for a few moments, my gloved fingers running over the contours of his face. "It is you."

"Theresa? What are you doing here?" Jem pulls me closer into a familiar embrace, pressing his mouth affectionately on my temple. I desperately hope nobody sees me or I would become a Disloyal for lingering with other Disloyals.

"I could ask you the same thing." I breath, my voice cracking. He feels safe and warm against me and I can't help but wish that the world was different. "I though you had-"

"I have...a new Commoner girl to look after," he whispers ashamedly. "She is getting fitted." Pressing his hands into my hair, he closes his eyes. "I still haven't forgotten about you, if that's what you were about to ask. I could never forget about you. How is William Herondale treating you?" He asks, his voice hesitant. I know he is holding his breath, waiting for me to say something bad, but I know that, since he is a worrier, he would go great measures to save me. Instead, I smile against his skin.

"It is not nearly as bad as I thought it would be," I lie, "but I miss you and Cecily, and Sophie, and even bloody Jessamine."

"I am glad to hear that."

Then I hear a call for my name and I force myself to rip away from him. "I hope to see you soon, Jem." I call quietly as I slip back out into the streets.

"Where were you?" Will inquires with annoyance in his tone, a small, long parcel in his hand. Probably more of his ridiculously expensive daggers.

"Looking at the shops." I say, placing my hand back on his arm. He gives me a suspicious look but I pat his arm encouragingly.

It has become easier to lie.

**Author's Note: Hello, lovelies! For all of you who love Jessa, which I am a total Jessa shipper as well though I like to add in variety, check out my fic Hey, its the New Girl. :)**

**Also, for those who enjoy songfics, I have a fic about Jem, Bleeding Out, and one about Will, Demons, that I think would be right up your alley.**

**Until then,  
MortalShadowhunter**


	7. Chapter 7

It is the first time Will lets me follow him to evaluate the rebel situation of London.

The room is dark; a 3d projection of London hovering over a table. Walking over to the array of lights, Mr. Herondale makes an LED marker on one of the side streets in the town. "This," he gestures that the mark, "is where the attack occurred yesterday. It is far from our Capital but too close to our citizens. We have expanded London at least four times its size since 2027 when you were fourteen, rendering us one of the biggest cities in the world. We cannot afford to keep suffering under these civilian attacks."

Will looks at the projection with boredom. "Any casualties?"

"One fatality, but that is all. In these situations, you must learn that force is the most convenient and productive technique." Mr. Herondale points out, dragging one of the lights to the side. "At the disruption of the light, I have just sent the signal to send twenty Protectors to set camp around that edge of the border. Our streets will be safe tonight."

"But what about tomorrow?"

"We will have more Protectors."

Narrowing his eyes angrily, Will bites the end of his pen in the corner of his mouth. "You enjoy toying with human lives too much. The Protectors are not an infinite supply nor are they the answer to the rebellions. We cannot keep destroying the lives of these citizens."

Hypocrite.

Mr. Herondale gives him a stern glare, his aged eyes wrinkling in displeasure. "You would let your city die for the sake of a few lives?"

"Of course not," Will answers, standing up and looking agitatedly at his father, "but you seem to have no problem throwing lives away when nothing is at stake."

"Everything is at stake."

"What about Ella? She didn't need to die."

"Is this entire thing about Ella-"

"She was your daughter." Will snaps suddenly, slamming his pen against the table. "You killed her!"

"Why does every conversation have to bring up goddamned Ella?" Mr. Herondale snarls; I can see where Will gets his rage. "She's dead, William, and she's not coming back. Get your head out of the damned clouds and look at the real world." Will doesn't say anything, but the way his shoulders are stiff and his body is shaking, I can tell that he is furious. But he has fear in his stance too. He has respect for his father in every way that he is afraid of him too, intimidated even.

I don't want to speak or else I am scared that I might shatter the stiff and uneasy silence.

Will sits down.

There is genuine grief in his eyes.

I cannot help but hate him a little less.

**~~ooo~~**

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

The daggers piece the wall of his room with the fuel of anger, gouging ugly scars into the white plaster.

Will angles his arm back again, snapping his wrist forward and hitting the wall again with a dagger where the knife sinks into it, quivering. Stalking up to the daggers, he yanks them out of the wall with little effort before standing back in position and throwing them again. I notice that he tries to control the burning inside of him by attacking the wall rather than me or his father, but it does little to help his bad temperament and hostile mood.

With an aggravated snarl, he plunges the dagger deep into the wall until it is hard for even him to yank it out. Instead of retrieving it, he merely crouches at the floor, his hands bracing his hand and in his hair with frustration.

He looks awfully human.

It is terrifyingly horrible to watch him in a time of weakness, but it reminds me that he is like me.

_Like me._

And yet he is different.

It is the first time I have been in his room, but I have gotten used to following him around because that is what he orders me to do. Though it looks as if a servant has ordered his things, books and daggers and clothes are still lying around carelessly. Rising to his feet, Will glares in my direction. "What are you doing here?"

"You ask me that question often." I say, the cuts on my ungloved hands visible for him to see. _You inflicted these wounds_, I want to say, but I am quiet. He wouldn't care anyway. "I am here because you have ordered me many times to follow you. When I don't follow you, you are angered and I would just hate for your precious little life to be soiled."

Pulling his daggers from the walls, he sticks one in the loop of his black jeans. It is strange to see him wearing such casual uniform. Walking over to me, he grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "You've got sprite, Tessa, for a Commoner, I'll give you that. But in the end," he leans forward, his voice lowering to a whisper, "I'm the one keeping you alive. You're lucky I haven't gotten you Convicted yet for being disloyal. I could lie and say you are stealing and lashing out for no reason. I have that kind of power."

"You wouldn't-"

"Actually, I would and I've done it before. If I did, they would bring you up onto the Marking stage and they would cut," he runs a finger softly over my mouth, "a bloodied X across your pretty, little lips. And then cut your hair as a symbol that you are no longer a lady, and bind your mouth with blood, red cloth." He grins, and all I feel is anger. "I'd still kiss you, though, yet I never have. Not even once, but I'm sure it will be lovely and even more so if you were Convicted, knowing that the scars I feel were put there by me, made possible by me. You should feel honored."

"Get your bloody hands off me." I spit, trying to yank my head back. He just snickers and, when his mouth curls into a dreadful sneer, I cannot help but raise my hand with intentions of hitting him. However, he notices and darts his hand out, wrapping his fingers around my wrist and wrenching it back. Against my will, I yelp in pain, my already sore wrist shooting bolts of agony into my body.

"You would dare hitting me?" He laughs amusedly. "I can't say I'm surprised, though."

"Will-"

"That is not your name to use."

"Master Will," I say between gritted teeth, "let me go."

"Why? You're not my master." He pulls the dagger from his belt loop and holds it to my throat, the sharp end digging into my throat. "Are you scared?"

"No. You wouldn't actually slit my throat."

"You're right," he says plainly, "it's too quick and too messy. You can't savor all the little things that go into killing a person because, by the time the knife has let the blood run, they're already dead."


	8. Chapter 8

Pulling my knees to my chest as I sit down on the bench, I lean my head against Jem's shoulder. We are both lucky that Will and the Owner have only a little less than a mile between them and it makes meeting up easier. The moon is soft and the shadows long and dark, I note gladly, hiding us from any unsavory eyes that might want us Convicted. We are afraid to exhale, though, not wanting to break the unsteady silence that passes between us. Finally, Jem looks at me, his eyes enormous and sad.

"You have changed, Theresa." He says, taking my hand and raising it to his cheek and against his skin. I can feel the slashed scars across his cheekbones that mark him as a Disloyal, but I don't notice it as much as I used to. They have become a part of him now.

"I grow up. People grow up and change." I say simply, my voice wavering. I can feel him breathing unevenly beside me and, instantly, I know that he has news. I can tell by the stutter in his heartbeat and the nervous breaths of air that he is planning something. Something dangerous. "What are you doing, Jem? Tell me, what is wrong."

"I haven't the slightest clue what you are hinting at."

I nuzzle my face affectionately into his neck, leaning against him, and I can feel his pulse thrumming against my skin. I pinch him softly on his arm, but not hard enough to hurt. "Liar. I know you better than that, James."

"We are planning a rebellion." He blurts out suddenly, dropping my hand.

I bolt upright. "You can't! It's too dangerous. You haven't seen how many Protectors they have and what they have done to other cities. If you rebel, you could get yourself killed...or worse, Convicted."

"I know, but I am doing what is right. Everyone at the Owner's place, even the women, are gathering arms. We have already begun sneaking out and stealing guns and knives from shops and old Protector storages." He looks up at the dark sky, his eyes glittering in grief. "I can't stand to live like this anymore, Theresa. We have already gone too far to stop. I knew you wouldn't agree but I have to, don't you understand?"

"No!" I cry angrily, though I know my anger is mostly because I am scared. "I don't."

"I have to do this." He murmurs, his voice dropping to a choked whisper. "I would rather die than live in a world where class decides your worth and people are becoming slaves to their own rights and those who betray those of higher power are mutilated and punished. I know the risks, but it is better to die or get shamed with scars than it is to know that I have done nothing in the face of peril in my city, my country." He stands and pulls me up, his hands seeking refuge in mine as the words of his imminent corruption seep into my mind.

"Don't do this." I beg.

"I must."

He just puts his arms around me, holding me tight and whispering into my ear affectionately with words that used to comfort me. I wish he wouldn't be so calm and accepting about the consequences. While he is kind and patient, he is stubborn and I know that words won't change his adamant thinking.

But, I want to tell him that he will be ripped away from me if he carries through with his plan.

I want to hold on tightly and tell him of all the grievances Will has caused me.

I want to tell him that he is more than an escort.

"Good luck," is what escapes my lips instead.

**~~ooo~~**

The morning that comes after is laced with surprise.

Will looks almost animalistic as he stands, his body poised as if he were on edge and waiting for something to jump out and attack. I almost expect him to lash out for no reason, but he just stands there, waiting, watching, thinking. His eyes are bluer today, I notice, and are fixated on a paper in his hand. When I sit down, a servant, who I have only seen once or twice, stands attentive in the room.

He's also a Convicted, for assault, Will told me. The servant's eyes are lewd and hateful, though he remains obedient. Will's mouth widens in a grin. "Teddy, do tell that Bayliss girl to fix up something for the both of us." He orders, sending the Convicted off with a wave of his hand. Sitting down and setting the papers down beside him, he looks up at me smugly. "How are you feeling today, Tessa?"

I don't answer him for a long time, my fingernails digging into my arms in anger. I don't want to play along with his little games, but I do anyway. "I'm quite fine, thanks to you." I say almost sarcastically though I stop it from showing, lowering my head in submission.

He mock swoons, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and taking in a gasp. "And thus the cat has been declawed." He smirks. "I did start to like you when you fought, my dear Tessa."

"I am not your_ dear Tessa._" I mutter, narrowing my eyes. He starts to sicken me again.

"Technically, then, if you prefer to do things the classic way, you should go try on the dresses I had custom made for you. I think they will work quite nicely." Will takes a sip of his water, looking at me over the rim of his glass. "Of course, you couldn't possibly believe that. I actually want you, but my father is traditional and requires us both to do the entire ceremony package deal."

"Ceremony?" I echo. "What do you mean?"

I already know what the answer is.

"We're getting married next week."

I know that I knew what I was expecting, but to hear it out loud has an entirely new effect. I cross my ankles in a weak effort to try and stop my body from shaking and I clench my teeth to stop them from chattering. Putting my elbows on the table, I bury my face in my hands.

"No...It's too soon. It's too early."

"Funny, isn't it? You're here for hardly over two weeks and we are already going to be wed. And here I thought my life couldn't get any worse."

My thoughts are all jumbled that I don't even notice the Disloyal Bayliss girl deliver our food, though my skin presses against the burning plate. I don't care, though. I grit my teeth through the pain and push the plate away from me. "I'm not hungry." I say, sinking back into my chair.

"Then try on your outfit. I asked Camille to make it less ridiculous than she has been. Make sure you will look pretty at our engagement party and our wedding." He says nonchalantly as if he were talking about particularly dull news.

"Engagement party?"

He hands me the papers and I read them over once. Twice. Three times. Four times, until I swear I have memorized the words and yet, it still doesn't feel real. I am hoping that I will wake up and it will all be a demented dream that took over my sleep, but it isn't. Instead, I just sit there with the papers in one hand and the weight of my soul in the other.

"Do stop dawdling, Tessa." Will mutters impatiently, looking up from his food. "Go try on your dresses. I want you to look pretty for when the world sees you."

By the time I manage to balance on my shaky legs and walk to my room, my food is already cold.


	9. Chapter 9

"You're looking awfully downcast today." Will remarks, entering my room without hesitation. Unlike how he was at breakfast, he's dressed in his signature freshly pressed suit and looks impeccably charming. Damn Aristocratic Class.

"That's just one of the side effects of being engaged to you." I sigh, my voice as brittle as broken glass. To my surprise, he just laughs a little, but it sounds insulting and mocking. Stepping into my engagement party dress, I shimmy it up my body, trying not to snag any of the fabric on the furniture around me. It is by far the nicest dress I have, save for the wedding dress that I haven't tried on yet, but it fits perfectly and is a deep, blue color; the same color of his eyes.

He did it on purpose, I know, so we match our colors. The dress itself feels like water and only has one, jeweled strap across one shoulder, but it makes me feel nauseous. I brace my hand on the vanity table when a wave of dizziness overcomes me, stars swirling in my vision. I never imagined, but always knew, that I would be married off to someone I didn't love, but I at least thought that I would get a decent husband. William is wealthy, powerful, and handsome, but he will never be the person that Jem is, no matter how hard he tried. Will is too arrogant to try, anyway.

When I finally do manage to stand up straight, I reach to my neck to instinctively pull at my sash that symbolizes that M is my Owner, but then I forget that its not there anymore. Instead, I fiddle with my fingers, a hot, angry red blooming across my cheeks. There are tears in my eyes but I hastily blink them away and stare at the bright lamp in the room to stop them from coming back.

Tears, I have learned from the Owner, are just another way of showing you are weak.

At this very moment, all I want are my books.

They are safe.

They do not judge.

But mine are gone.

"Do you like it?" Will asks, suddenly behind me and breathing down my neck.

I shudder because the mere thought is disgusting.

"It's beautiful." I answer, though its not exactly a lie. It _is _beautiful, just not on me. It reminds me too much of his brutality, of his hate and spontaneous behavior. It reminds me that there are no happy ever afters like the fairy tales say and no solutions to the endless problems our society too easily ignores, The world is a liar. Everyone is a liar. I, myself, am a liar.

His hand finds the zipper on my dress and pulls it down, helping me out of my dress and handing me the gold dress. Each Aristocrat Class has their own color; gray was the obvious choice for Nate. Emerald for the Lightwoods, white for the Lovelaces, and gold for the Herondales.

_Of course it is customary to marry in their family color,_ I assume as I step into the mass of gold fabric. This one is equally as lovely as well, but it is heavy and adorned with lace and dripping with jewels. Something in his eyes flickers; his mouth downturns in a scowl. "I asked bloody Camille to shut it with the lace and jewels but apparently, she doesn't listen to anyone. You look gaudy. Change out of it."

"Yes, your _highness_." I say sickly sweet, tearing the dress from my skin.

Will blinks. "Highness?"

"You act like you're a king and get to rule everything, when in actuality, you're just a selfish child." I say sourly.

"You just noticed that?" He snickers before pulling a dress from my drawer, shoving it into my hands. Obediently, I slip it on and strangely, I like it. It's simple and plain, but still classy and sophisticated. Will tilts his head. "Is that new?"

"Yes." I nod, smoothing the front. "It's lovely."

"Yes, you are." Will says softly before hardening his gaze and leaving the room. He almost sounds sincere.

Almost.

**~~ooo~~**

Walking down the hall, the last person I expect to run into is Mrs. Herondale.

She's almost always at gatherings and meetings, an uncommon thing for a woman, and when she is home, she is seeing to guests and doting over her husbands new plans. When I do see her, I curtsey; she is old fashioned and looks pleased at my sign of respect. Though she is older, she is still very beautiful and the only sign that the years have touched her are the strings of gray in her hair.

"Miss Gray?" She says, lifting me from my curtsey. "I would like to speak with you."

My heart starts thudding in my chest and I take a ragged breath of air. "Certainly, Mrs. Herondale."

"Come," she gestures by her side, "walk with me."

"Yes'm." Biting my bottom lip as I accompany her on her stroll, I can't help but feel uncomfortable that she is an entire foot shorter than me. While she is quite petite, it still makes me feel tall. Too tall.

"I hear that you and my son are engaged to be married."

I want to say that I had no choice in it, but I don't. Instead, I just give her a grateful smile. "Yes'm."

Rather than asking me if I love him, or if I even like him, she just purses her lips. "He is very fond of you, I can see."

Fond of me?

Fond.

Of.

Me?

Bruises and cut fingers, laughs to my face and snide remarks, and strict rules that result in punishment if they are broken. Anger flames up in my chest at her ignorant words. How can she say he is fond of me when she doesn't even see the pain he inflicts? I choke down my hate and try to feel pity for him instead, but it never comes. Instead, I clench my hands into fists and dig my nails into my palms. "I doubt he feels that way about me, Mrs. Herondale." Stopping me, she crosses her arms in a very motherly way, but there is no love for Will in her stance. She just looks protective and selfish, just like her husband.

"This legacy of ours is very strong, yet delicate and needs to be dealt with like his father has. Promise me you won't get in his way."

"I promise, Mrs. Herondale."

"Promise me that you will not tamper with his affections."

"Yes'm."

"Promise me that you will not try to sway his beliefs when it comes to his time taking over his head position of our family."

"Yes'm."

She turns from me and heads in the opposite direction. "Good. I hope you are true to your promises because we don't tolerate liars."

I am frozen staring after her when she leaves. She is afraid, I realize. She feels threatened. Once her husband dies, she won't have power anymore and it will just be Will and I. She will lose everything she has gained and yet, I don't feel sympathy. Except, I remember that I am merely an accessory; I shouldn't feel this angered at her requests, but I do not want to live life as some doll who is used and then wasted on nothing but admiring it's forced beauty. But I have no power, I am just a regular Commoner whose brother is from a wealthy family and whose best friend has been ripped away from her. I am just a doll.

Aren't I?


	10. Chapter 10

The sight of people is almost dizzying.

Will's hand is the only thing keeping me anchored to the ground as we move through the crowd of people to see _us_. I forget that I'm supposed to be happy. I forget that I'm supposed to make Will look good, but its overwhelming and unsettling. He murmurs something in my ear about discussing business and exchanging news with a close trade partner, but all I can feel is his hand leaving mine and I am lost. There are nail marks in my wrist where he dug his nails into my skin, whether it was to try and keep my hand in his or to remind me to be obedient.

Pushing through the crowd and trying not to trip on the absurdly adorned suits that the young children are wearing, I slam into someone's side, tripping over my dress. Managing to catch myself, I flush with embarrassment.

"Are you alright, Theresa?" A familiar voice says. I look up a the person I have so rudely barreled into and I smile softly.

"Cecily? Congratulations on your marriage." I say. Cecily smiles in response, looping her arm around a tall, young man with sandy hair and green eyes. I immediately assume he is Gabriel Lightwood, her husband, but he is talking to another man his age that I cannot see his face in full detail. "How is married life treating you?"

"All is well, all is well." Cecily chirps, her eyes bright. But then she frowns slightly, glancing over at her brother who is barely visible in the crowd. "How is Will...treating you? He is being kind, right?"

I feel like I should tell her, but I don't. I just wipe off imaginary crumbs from my hands and nod my head. "It's fine. It's...different."

Her shoulders relax and she sighs in relief. "Oh, I'm glad to hear that. He sort of went 'round the bend after Ella was killed. I love him still, but I was fearful of how he would turn out."

"Oh, that bloody bastard." Gabriel scowls when he finally diverts his attention towards us, his green eyes murderous and full of hate. His face is so angular, it looks sharp, but elegant. "I've never liked him, before or after such events." Cecily just puts her hand over his, shaking her head slowly. He softens hesitantly, but gradually, a small expression of adoration for Cecily on his face.

"I know, I know. I don't blame you either." She pushes herself up, pecking him on the cheek.

I feel almost jealous that I don't have what she has.

Will is nothing like him and is not nearly as gentle.

I don't have to ask why Gabriel doesn't like Will.

"Good luck." Gabriel mutters stiffly, his expression not one of hatred, but his tone edged with caution. Cecily seems to understand his discomfort, touching me lightly on my arm before pulling him back into the crowd and towards Gideon and Sophie. I want to follow them and speak to Sophie and reminisce in old times about our shared memories, but I feel like the odd one out.

They all have someone whereas I have nobody.

Fingers wrap around my arm and I look up sharply, staring at Will's blank, blue eyes. In his hand, he has a glass with champagne, tapping it gently and silencing everyone. I hang off his arm like I'm supposed to, acting content when I know I am not. Will knows it too, but he ignores it. He doesn't care. "I would like to propose a toast to my engagement to Miss Tessa Gray. Normally, my father would be here to give the first toast, but seeing as he is busy," his tone cracks a little, "protecting our city, he couldn't make it." His words are flat and he knows it as well. There is no emotion, nothing even hinting that he could care about me or any of this engagement party except for his own image. "To the Aristocrats, our marriage, and many more years."

There is a wave of congratulatory voices that come after the toast, glasses being lowered, and people shaking his hand. The crowd of people his too much, they're closing in. I can feel myself shaking. Without thinking, I hold up my dress, running to the heavy doors and throwing them open. The cold air hits me hard, but it helps me fight the lightheaded and queasy knot in my stomach.

Leaning over the railing, I just stand there and breath, calmed by the brisk breeze and open patio. In the distance, I can see the London buildings below me, sparkling and flickering pitifully in the dark. I wonder if Jem can see the lights too.

"People are wondering where you are." Will says, coming up behind me. He has something clutched in his hand, but he doesn't give it to me. Not yet.

I look over at him. "Really?"

"No."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Can you just not be a hard headed idiot for a while?"

"I'm the hard headed idiot? You're always so icy about everything."

"You're absolutely insane. You're psychotic and maniacal and sadistic." I snap angrily, turning my body towards him.

"Someone ever tell you that your mouth needs a filter to your brain? Hah. Never mind, you probably don't have any connections between your mouth and your brain anyway."

"Let me go." I want to leave but he's blocking my way. When I go to push him, he catches my hand, opening his fist and sliding a ring onto my left ring finger. I jerk my hand back. "I don't want your jewels or riches-"

"It's not for you." He says softly, but his eyes blaze with intensity. "It's for me and everyone else to see that you're mine. Like...a dog collar of sorts."

I take a stuttering breath when he presses me to the railing, one hand rising and tangling in my hair. I hate him, I know, but I stay still as he holds my waist, looking at me with dark eyes. There is anger in his eyes, but it is muted, and something else clouds them completely. I can feel his hand travel downwards, passing between the slit in the dress and onto my bare skin.

There is some kind of pressure in my stomach like an ache; it's not painful, but it's...unpleasant, like wanting for something that is just out of reach.

Up close, I can see every one of his eyelashes like dark frames for his eyes, creating shadows down his cheekbones. His breath warms my neck as he looks down at me, purposely making me lean back a little more so I look smaller and more delicate.

A surprised gasp leaves my lips when he grazes his finger across the nape of my neck, leaving shuddering and tingling sensations across my skin. Instinctively, I tilt my head back, looking up at him and trying to stop my hands from quivering.

"Why are you shaking?" He whispers in my ear, his voice low and gravelly.

"I didn't notice." I lie, my gray eyes enormous.

His hand is rising higher and higher under my dress but, this time, I don't stop him as long as he keeps sending small shockwaves of shock through me, weakening my knees. I see his gaze settle on my lips, his mouth parted slightly. My eyes flutter closed for some strange reason; my body betraying what my mind is telling me.

My hair is damp with sweat and sticks to my forehead as he leans forward, about to close the gap between us when he halts to a stop, his eyes glittering with amusement. He pulls away and my back hits the railing, hard, and I just lean against it for a moment trying to make sense of what happened. Will brushes off his suit and takes my wrist roughly. "We need to go back inside."

I nod my head and try to answer, but I am hanging by a thread.

Clinging onto this spider silk strand of hope.

**Author's Note: I got a question of when I am updating my Hey, it's the New Girl fanfiction. Don't worry, EmFinch. All in good time, I've gotten a tad bit of overload on that one but I will post another chapter tomorrow.**


	11. Chapter 11

"You must not be too angry with me if you still keep coming here." Jem whispers, the tips of his fingers absentmindedly drawing shapeless symbols on the backs of my hands.

I smile wistfully at him because I try to hide the pain in my eyes.

"I'm not angry. I am just worried." I answer, rolling onto my stomach so I can see through the fields. The grass isn't our favorite place to meet because its a little cold and risky for our tastes, but the view of London is impeccable and it's quiet. His fingers graze the pulse in my wrist, and he tenses, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at me with a worried expression.

"You have news." He says simply, staring at me with curious eyes.

"I'm fine."

"What is it?"

"Nothing." I move onto my side so my back is facing him, but he just sits up and turns me back over. "Listen, Jem," I say, trying to keep the shake from my voice, "it's nothing you need to worry about. It's nothing serious nor should you burden yourself with knowing." I murmur, sitting up as well and rubbing my eyes as if the moon is too bright and it hurts my eyes. I'm utterly exhausted. He doesn't question me again but, by the anguished look in his eyes, I can tell he has seen my ring. He is intelligent and knows exactly what has happened and what is going to happened. There are rumors in the Commoner markets about us, I have heard, anyway.

We are quiet until the clock tower in London chimes midnight and we both stand. "Are...Are you alright with it?" Jem asks tentatively, taking my hand and fiddling with my fingers. He is needy that way, and he's a worrier.

"It's not like I have any choice." I shrug, though, deep inside, I want to take my ring and cast it off where I will never see it again...but it would hardly do anything in my favor. "Just think about your duties. You must be busy with the upcoming," I mean to say rebellion, but I can't force it out of my throat, "Ceremony."

"Indeed. It's quite tiring." Jem says, pulling away.

"We should go."

"I'll see you next week."

"Farewell for now."

His voice is hardly a sigh when he answers my temporary goodbye, disappearing into the fields and on his way back to the Owner's mansion. I wince as the brambles in the field scrape at my bare legs, catching on my boots as I trudge back. The air pricks goosebumps on my legs and, even when I am finally safe in my room, they don't seem to go away.

I fall down on my bed and yelp when my side is impaled with something hard and sharp. Lifting up the thin blanket that lay over my comforter, I see a rectangular shape that I cannot see clearly. However, when I pick it up and run my hands through the familiar pages and the embossed title on the front cover, I realize that it cannot be anything _The Tale of Two Cities_.

I want to read it to sooth my mind, but my eyes are too tired.

Instead, I just hold the book to my chest and let the tears of injustice run down my face because it is the best of times, and it is the worst of times but finally,_ finally_, I might be breaking through.

**~~ooo~~**

Sitting elegantly and gracefully on the short wall that separated the balcony from the one hundred foot drop to the city of London below him, Will holds out his finger, watching as a dark, violet butterfly lands unafraid on his hand. At first, he studies it with sincere interest, holding it close to his face and watching as the small, velvety wings flutter as it perches upon his finger. Then, without changing his blank expression, he takes hold of the butterfly's wings, the thin, violet fabric-like material splitting and tearing in smaller, frail pieces.

It flails pitifully, but he just discards the detached wing pieces on the ground. When the wings are in shreds, he holds the butterfly over the edge, watching as the breeze carries it helplessly down, down, down and drowns it in the Thames. I can tell by his concentrated expression that he is straining to see where the butterfly went, though it was partially obvious that it landed in the water since it was headed in that direction.

I frown, opening the crystal glass door and using one hand to shelter my hair from the wind. "Whatever did the poor creature do to you?"

"You know," Will says, still balancing precariously on the rail's edge, "I wish you wouldn't talk so much. It gets dull." Standing up, his rangy figure is silhouetted by the rising sun, blurring and smudging his features with black. Hopping onto the ground, he tilts his head forward slightly, his mouth snapping into a devilish grin. "You must be here for a reason, though."

I hold _The Tale of Two Cities_ to my chest, feeling awfully exposed in my nightgown. "I just wanted to say thank you for the book."

"I don't like that one. You can have it."

"You could have just said you're welcome."

"You could just shut up."

I flinch as if he has hit me, pulling back slightly when a cruel hatred weaves into his voice. "Why? Why do you have to be so hateful all the time?" I ask angrily, setting the book down on the glass table beside me. I march over to him, only having to tilt my head up an inch to meet his eye level. "I'm getting _married _to you against my own will. The least you could do is try to pretend to be kind or to care."

"You think I want to get married to you? I have told you countless times that I don't want you or need you." He snarls, his blue eyes blazing. "I'm trying to, for once, make my father proud. You wouldn't know anything about that since your parents are dead."

He emphasizes the last word like a curse, his lip curling and the rage in his eyes apparent that he means to hurt me, but I don't care. "You. You're the one who brings this upon yourself. You want your little city to be strong? You can't even make an effort to change your fathers plans."

"He's family."

"He killed family."

I only say what I've heard, but once the words leave my mouth, his hands are gripping my wrists with bruising force. I stifle a scream and bite my tongue as he leans close, his tone spelling bloody murder. "Don't you _dare _talk about my sister." He shoves me back and I land in a painful heap on the ground. Cradling my wrist to my chest, I try to choke back angry sobs, but they come anyway.

And then Will does the unthinkable.

He kneels down beside me, pulling me up into a sitting position and taking my wrists. There is shock that is spreading across his face when he sees the black and blue bruises that start to ring my wrists. "I'm sorry," he whispers, one arm bracing my back. I lean my forehead against his shoulder, more tears running down my face no matter how hard I try to stop. His eyes are closed when he looks down, catching me in an awkward embrace. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"It hurts." I choke out, my hands aching when I move them.

Suddenly, he grows stiff beside me and his eyes are glinting with cruel intentions. "I'm sorry," he says, his arm leaving my back, "that I didn't make it hurt more." And with that, he walks away, leaving me alone outside with nothing but bruises and a meaningless book that reminds me that I am nothing, but his accessory.


	12. Chapter 12

"Don't touch me." I say quietly from my bed. I grasp the book harder in my hand as if he would take it away just for the spite of it, but Will merely stands in the doorway and watches as I huddle by my pillow, one bruised hand raised to shelter me from any more blows that he has to offer. Snapping the book closed, I wince when my wrist stretches, screaming at me in agony. I try not to show the pain, though.

"Get out of your bed." He orders, his tone so bleak that I'm sure he's not playing a game again. Slowly, I slink from my covers, my eyes glazing over in suspicion. "Dress yourself and pack. We are going out of town for two days for business. My fathers coming so you better be on your best behavior." When he decides that I'm not moving fast enough, he yanks me up by my wrist and I cry out reluctantly in pain. Though it feels juvenile, I am grateful that he pulls a dress from my drawer and hands it to me, turning me around and undoing the gold buttons on the back of my nightgown. I don't care that I'm nearly nude in front of him. It would hurt too much to undo the buttons by myself. His eyes don't leave mine for a moment, anyway.

"When are we leaving?" I inquire, lowering my head as I slip the simple, yet extravagant, dress on. "Where are we going?"

"We're leaving in an hour. The whereabouts of our impending location isn't important." He says, sitting down on the edge of my bed. "You need time to make yourself look presentable."

"Yes, your highness."

He doesn't narrow his eyes this time when I call him by his mocking title.

In fact, I think he's beginning to rather enjoy it.

Gritting my teeth through the pain as I reach back and hook the clasp, I turn towards him, waiting for his nod of approval. However, he stands up, moving closer in a graceful gait like a cat who stalks it's prey. I only cringe a little when he catches me by my waist, his eyes almost black when he looks down at me. They are amused and yet laced with desire, his willpower to refuse draining by the moment. His breath is hot against my skin when he mouths over my jaw, leaving tender spots along my neck.

I know he thinks that he is going to steal my first kiss away, but it isn't until he presses his mouth to mine that he realizes I'm not completely untouched. Despite myself, my arms curve around his neck, the heat of the moment drowning out the voice of reason that thuds in my thoughts. He is rough, animalistic even, as he grabs my hip, pulling me against him firmly so we are fitted together like a puzzle piece.

His fingers are biting into my hip so tightly that it hurts and I'm sure he dents the fabric that covers my body. In an effort to regain my sanity, I pull away from him sharply, pushing him back. Except then, he is behind me, one hand under my chin, and the other clasping over my arm. He pushes my face to the side, turning it until my ear is up against his mouth, slow, harsh sentences drawn out like a barbed wire.

"I have wanted," he whispers, his lips brushing softly against my ear, "to do that since I saw you, Miss Gray. You are even better than I imagined." There is desire in his voice, and lust, but there is no love that he has for me. Someone with a heart as impure as his can never hold such a pure thing like love.

"I need to get ready," I mutter between my teeth. He smiles.

"Of course, but first, allow me." He takes my wrist gingerly, leading me to the bathroom where he positions me in front of the mirror. Going through the drawers, he pulls a tan cream and sponge from the recesses, setting them on the counter. Gently, he lifts my chin, exposing three ever darkening bruises on my skin. I hiss at first when he touches them, spreading the cream across it and covering them until they are nothing but a small shadows. _He is used to having to cover such bruises_, I assume, watching as they slowly disappear. Then, reaching for something under the bed, he pulls out a case of sorts, opening it and setting it onto the floor. "Pack up your things in there and, when you are done, meet me in the main room."

Turning around, he walks out slowly, throwing a glance back as if he knows I am watching.

And the worst part about it is that I am.

**~~ooo~~**

"Don't do that." Will spits, nudging me firmly. If he is thinking about what conspired between us in my room, he does not show it.

"Do what?"

"Slouch. You look like a Convicted."

"I am standing up straight."

"There is hair in your eyes."

"There is hair in _your _eyes." I counter, but he pulls at my sore wrist.

"When will you learn that talking back never gets you anywhere?" His eyes focus on something across the room and he sees his father open the main door, heading towards them accompanied with Teddy and the Bayliss girl. They are carrying our things, but I'm only focused in the pain in my wrist. Will grabs it again. "On this trip, you are to stay as silent as possible. Understood?"

"Yes, your highness." I hide the sneer in my tone because I am afraid.

"This trip decides who gets control over the eastern Protectors. Anything you say can be used against us. Do not, under any circumstances, repeat private information at this meeting."

"Yes, your highness."

"If you are spoken to, agree with my and I father in any way you are able to. Do you understand?"

Looking him square in the eye, my voice falters for a moment. "Y-yes...Your highness."

When Will glances over at his father, he looks satisfied and his cold, blue eyes reminding me of why I am here. _I am a doll, _I say to myself in my head, _nothing more than a trophy from a wealthy family to make the Herondales look wealthier, more powerful, more capable. You are here with a meaning. _Will offers his arm and I take it, forcing on a sweet smile when I walk out, the door closing automatically behind the three of us.

Looking out over the fields, I wonder if Jem can see the house and, if he can, I wonder if he grieves for me.

Because I grieve for him.


	13. Chapter 13

I don't realize that I fall asleep on the train ride until I wake up; my head is over my curled arms and my back is pressing into the cushion of the booth that I'm sleeping on. I'm very thankful we got a private section in the train. They are high class Aristocrats after all, and would hardly settle for less. I push myself up and look outside of the curtains that shield the window. It's still in London and, yet, it's a whole new change of scenery.

Chiswick is not as white and polished as the Herondale's home, but it is lovely indeed. Buildings made of gray slate and brick are rising from the ground, many quaint houses around them. The main difference, I notice, is that the Commoner houses and the Aristocrat houses are side by side. Then again, the Lightwoods have been known to be proud of their integration, speaking of how the Commoners look up to them and ask for assistance. The Lightwood house, which is where I'm assuming we will be staying at, is much different than the Herondale family house. Not only is it a deep, charcoal color, but it has at least three stories and a multitude of windows.

"Don't do that." Will says, pulling my hand roughly away from the curtains that cover the window.

"Why not?" I ask, rubbing my wrist.

"Curiosity is your besetting sin." Will hisses, shutting the curtains. "Aristocrats do no show interest in their surroundings. It is not proper of us. We accept that they are merely there and we are above them. It is dangerous to discover."

_It is dangerous to discover._

His sharp words stick into my heart like a needle for that is all I want to do. Asking questions and discovering new things; that really is what I live for, isn't it? But I obey his wishes because I am forced to and because his father is staring at me with a sharp and intense expression.

The weight of judgment often infiltrates his eyes.

The train stops abruptly but its hard to feel it when my mine is so heavily blurred by other worries and thoughts. Standing up absentmindedly, I instinctively clutch Will's arm, walking with him as we exit the train. I can tell he feels disgusted by the amount of Commoners that brush past me and him, but he doesn't act upon it. Instead, he just scowls and follows his father with a glimmer of hate that only I can see.

"Benedict." Mr. Herondale says stiffly, his eyes wrinkling as he looks at the man in front of him with scrutiny. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Our servants are being unusually noncompliant. They're cleaning up the mess they made and couldn't make it out here to greet our...guests." Benedict Lightwood says, a look of displeasure on his face. With one glance, I can tell that his sons are much better looking than their father ever was. I don't _dare _say it out loud though. On our way in the cab and to the Lightwood mansion, I only catch bits and pieces of words over the blood pounding in my ears.

"Increased attacks-"

"Limited Protectors-"

"Rebels being killed-"

"Allies-"

"Some Aristocrats helping-"

"Disloyals-"

"Convicted."

Their words make me sick because they are ignorant and empty and because they make me think of Jem.

When we finally do get to the front gate, I can see Sophie and Cecily at the window, looking in anxiety at Mr. Herondale. I don't blame them, though. He looks intimidating and is quick to send his Protectors into battle no matter the cost.

I see Gabriel and Gideon enter the room where we are being brought into, their eyes equally as sheltered as if they are hiding something. I cannot help but be overcome by curiosity but then I remember, _it is dangerous to discover._

Will pinches me and it jars me out of my thoughts. He tells me, "You look inebriated," and I quickly stand up straight and walk stiffly beside him. We are seated at a table and I'm surprised they don't make me leave the room. When Gabriel Lightwood offers us all a glass of champagne, I refuse because Will pinches me again. He tells me, "You don't deserve such luxuries, especially not from a _Lightwood. _He's testing to see how well I have trained you."

I can't tell if the expression on Benedict's face is surprise or satisfaction as he watches his son offer me a drink, but it still makes me queasy. Will's hand leaves my wrist when he is handed his drink, sipping at it lightly like a proper gentleman should. But he is no gentleman.

Several other families join us at the table and the breath escapes from my lungs when I see Nate.

He looks at me, I can tell, but he pretends he doesn't know me because he hates the Herondales because they are his competition. His hand is rested lovingly on Jessamine's hand, who looks like she's on a diet of fake smiles and sugared honey. Gabriel offers them both a glass of champagne, but she raises her hand and lowers her eyelashes coyly. "Oh, I couldn't possibly. It wouldn't be right of me."

I want to go shake sense into her because she was my friend and now she's someone she's not.

"We are gathered here today to discuss the matter of the eastern Protectors that the Herondales are currently," Benedict narrows his red-rimmed eyes, "_watching_ over. We must settle this debacle seeing as the attacks on London are growing; it's a shame that our own people, the Commoners, are rebelling."

"They are not our people." Nate protests, rising to his feet. "I cannot see how you manage to live so close to the Commoner Class houses that attack our town with their scum."

I take a ragged breath, trying to stop the betrayal that claws at my chest.

"We have looked after the eastern Protectors for months, now." Mr. Herondale says, ignoring Nate. "Nothing has gone wrong nor are we struggling to command such elite soldiers. Herondales have always been the ones to look after the city."

"And yet you are the furthest from them." Nate adds, his eyes glinting. "Wouldn't it make sense for the Grays to own those Protectors seeing that we live nearest to them?"

"But you are inexperienced." Benedict Lightwood argues.

To all of our surprise, Gideon stands up, his expression one of neutrality. His father shoots him a warning look but Gideon ignores it. "We have held together for many years with and without attacks. Why don't we, instead of picking off the rebels and preventing them from attacking our city, reason with them and address the root of the problem. I have seen my fair share of attacks and I know they fight with a purpose-"

"Whose side are you on?" Benedict barks, anger sharpening his voice. "You have no say in this."

"Actually, father, I do." Gideon says calmly, his eyes slits. "I'm eighteen and, therefore, I get a say. Now, Gabriel might not, but I can speak for the both of us."

I admire Gideon. He is reasonable, unbiased and, most of all, unwilling to fight but ready to argue. He is one who has not followed in his fathers footsteps and I imagine what Will would be like if he had the courage to have reason. I imagine what Will would be like if he thought out his actions. I imagine a Will who defies his father for the greater good, but my mind is blank.

I cannot imagine him in such a way.

**Author's Note: To Mezzogal: Tessa is 17. Jem is a Disloyal for trying to help Tessa escape meaning that he's practically a servant for the Owner at preparing the girls. Girls who are born on wealthy families are automatically Commoners because of the society's misogynistic thinking. When they are 10, they are bought by the Owner where they are prepared for marriage. (This will all be explained in later chapters revolving around Tessa). The Commoners are pretty much made up of unwed women, widows, and divorced women. **

**The reason why Tessa was surprised at marriage was because not many women are married to Aristocrats. Sure, they live with wealthy suitors but to be married means to rise up in class. For instance, Nate and Jessamine are not married because he is too proud to share status. While Will is also proud, his father is married and believes that it gives the public a better image of their family.**

**Don't worry. Later in the story, many of these details will clear up with time.**


	14. Chapter 14

"They don't want us there, that's why." Cecily says sourly, crossing her legs as she settles on the rough floor. "Gabriel's nice enough but his father hates it when _women _are there and attend meetings. He says that he wants to integrate us with the Commoners when, in reality, he just wants to make himself look good."

"Cecily," Sophie scolds, hitting Cecily's arm lightly, "you can't speak about the Lightwoods in that way."

"I'm not talking about the Lightwoods in general. I'm talking about Benedict Lightwood." Cecily mutters, frowning.

"Miss Cecily. You have no right to complain. You're one of them for goodness sakes." Sophie points out, nudging Cecily's wedding ring.

"Aren't you two going to get married?" I ask, more curious than ever.

Sophie shakes her head. "Gideon and I agreed that we wouldn't." She sighs, looking down at the floor. "I do love him and he is a good man but I don't want to be an Aristocrat. He, out of everyone, understands that."

"What Sophie means to say," Cecily drawls, "is that Gideon hates his father and doesn't want to adhere to his wishes by going against the rebellion. He does like being an Aristocrat, I've seen it with my own eyes, but it's the responsibility of it that he doesn't like. Gabriel, Gideon, Sophie and I all agree that the Aristocrats are being foolish by using force. I've seen the supplies the rebels are getting. I've seen the way the Commoners are becoming agitated and restless. You've seen it too, Tessa."

"I guess I have." I answer, remembering Jem. Jessamine coughs slightly and girlishly, sitting daintily on the couch with her hair gathered over one shoulder. I look over at her. "What opinion do you have?"

"Opinion. Why would I want an opinion?" Jessamine says, her voice as sweet as honey. "I have your brother. What else would I want?"

Cecily makes an impatient sound in the back of her throat. "God, Jessamine. You have a tendency to make people pissed off."

"Now, now. That's not the way a lady should talk." Jessamine answers, blinking slowly and letting her eyelashes fall elegantly over her dark brown eyes. "I've just decided to go with the flow of things. What is it worth to rebel?"

"Everything." Sophie says hastily before covering her mouth. "For the rebels." She adds quickly, flushing red. She cranes her neck, trying to see the outside window where the night sky covers the stars.

"What are you looking for?" I ask.

"Nothing." She stands up.

Jessamine purses her lips. "On a completely other topic, I've seen most of you at the engagement party. Are you excited, Tessa?"

Before I can answer, a gunshot rings through the air and we are all on our feet.

Running over to the window, I look at the city, seeing fires lit on specific Aristocrat houses. It's the first time I've been so close to a rebellion before and I can't help but shake as a wave of fear goes over me, but I stand up straight. I must be strong and support the cause. Jessamine screams as another gunshot fires and she cowers by the window next to me, clinging to my leg. _How very lady like of her_, I think sarcastically, pulling her to her feet and darting to the door, opening it and pushing her out into the hall.

Cecily and Sophie exchange glances, following us with something in their hands. Gabriel comes around the corner, relief clear on his face and his brother not far behind him. They gather with Sophie and Cecily, whispering to each other in hushed voices. Normally, I would be determined to see what they are talking about but my heart is pumping too hard to stop for the sake of my curiosity. Heading towards the meeting room, I push the doors open, seeing Benedict Lightwood keying in a pad to a safe. Mr. Herondale is near him and Will is at the other side of the room, his dark, blue eyes murderous. When he sees me, he just narrows his eyes.

"And this is why we need the Protectors." Mr. Herondale hisses, watching as a projection appeared from a small light in the safe. He drags one of the lights over to the top, tapping on the abstract array of lights to Chiswick. "You Lightwoods have no idea of what protecting the city is and are too often spent drinking and about with the Commoners to control such power."

"We protected this city for decades before you and we will do so after you." Benedict says, glaring at Mr. Herondale. "You sent out more Protectors than we need. The Commoners can't hold up against them for long."

"William. Take Miss Gray to the train." Mr. Herondale hisses. "Carefully and quietly. We are leaving."

"But we are leaving undecided." Will argues, going over to his father who gives him a stern glare. Turning from him in submission, Will hurries over to me, grabbing my hand and pulling me down the hall. Flinging open the front door, he drags me down the steps, smoke burning my eyes.

The city is a hazy red glow, the Aristocrat's houses on fire where the Commoner's places are untouched. There are rows of Protectors, I can see as I squint my teary eyes, their black suits and heavy guns slung across their shoulders. More gunshots fire and I can hear faint shouts in the midst of the flames. Some are full of fear and some are full of anger but they blend in anyway.

I look at the side of an Aristocrat house and in bold, red paint, there is a sign that says: _The Annihilation has begun._

"Hurry up, Tessa." Will orders sharply, pulling me towards the train station. His eyes are slits and, underneath all the anger, there is fear because he knows there are people out to get him as well. "Quite slowing me down." We hide in a small niche in the wall where a public telephone is and I hope that the shadows hide us. Someone else comes into view, clearly an Aristocrat, helping someone onto the platform and calling for help.

_Stupid Aristocrat._

Immediately, he is against the floor, a cloth wraps over his eyes and mouth as a figure presses down on his back. Drawing a gun from his jeans, the figure presses it into the Aristocrat's back, forcing him up. His companion screams, grabbing the figures shoulder and forcing him around. Still clutching the collar of the Aristocrat, the figure whirls around, a loud bang splitting through the air.

Will has to clamp his hand over my mouth to stop me from screaming. The woman, who I assume is the Aristocrat's wife, is lying on the floor, her face a bloodied mess. Nausea rises in my throat when I see the pool of blood around her motionless body, a smell of death and smoke in the air. When I look back at the dark figure and the Aristocrat, they have disappeared, a trail of bloodied shoeprints left in their wake.

**Author's Note: OKAY PEOPLE'S. This is the last chapter of my story.**

**JUST KIDDING!**

**I won't be updating as much since I'm leaving for London today! :) I'll try to update soon. Love, love!**


	15. Chapter 15

When the smoke has receded and leaves my lungs choking for air and my eyes watering, I draw my hand away from Will's.

It seems childish of me to be holding onto him no matter how scared I am. I have always been taught to cover up emotion but it seems to do so would to take the very humanity out of a person. Maybe that's why Will seems so brutal, so robotic, so animalistic, and so...inhuman. He's constantly pretending to be a character in a masquerade and I know that, if I told him, he would ask how I would think so a thing when I hardly know him.

But I would say that I wouldn't know him at all. That it's just something that I feel in my heart.

I want to tell him that, in my heart, I can feel the good in his, because he is frozen in a continuum of time that seems to mask his every emotion, rendering him unfeeling, unnatural, and fake. Then again, he would be right.

I don't know him.

I'm probably just mistaken.

We make our way down a street and I can tell he's not trying to look at the bodies strewn across it. I can tell he's ignoring the remaining flames that are licking at the Aristocrat houses. He turns to me, his eyes sheltered and lowered. I can't stop looking at the gruesome sight, though. It's horrifying and captivating all the same. There are red pins, I can see, that have been singed by the fire and thrown across the bodies. Will glares at them.

"There is a train station not too far from here. It has high security so the chances are, it hasn't been hit." He says, his voice taught with anger. "Its close enough to walk, although I assume you'll drag us both down anyway."

I hiss but I just clench my hands into fists and cross my arms before I notice his fingers wrapped around my wrist. So I just let my occupied hand dangle at my side. "Are others going to be there?"

He frowns. "How would I know?"

"I just figured you would know-"

"Well, I don't. Alright?" He says in a scathing tone that reminds me I'm not supposed to answer.

So I stay silent.

We are both quiet as we walk down the street, our shoes on the gravel the only sound that we can hear besides the blood pounding in our ears. But then I think its just me. My free hand presses to my heart and I can feel it thudding through my dress and against my fingertips.

I'm afraid, but I try not to show it. I even try to not feel it, but my heart stutters anyway. I can sense Will is afraid too, but he doesn't show it.

I don't think he can even feel it.

My wrist is sore from all the pulling and dragging, but I just follow him incessantly; like a dog and it's owner but then I shake my head. Even a dog has more pride than I have left.

We make our way into a smokier part of town and my eyes start to burn again. Will pulls out a small device from his coat, clicking it on and it makes a whirring noise, shooting a beam of light into the air. It fans out, forming a 3d projection like so many of the others I have seen, but miniature.

I look at it with curiosity and I can't restrain myself. "What are you doing?"

He narrows his eyes, his fingers dragging the lights in different positions to a map that looks startlingly alike to the terrain we are on. "Nothing you need to interest yourself in." He mutters, a line of red lights moving through the neon blue projection. He sighs, whether out of relief or exasperation, I'm not sure. "We're close to the train. It shows that there are others there so I'm assuming my father will be there as well."

"When we get there..?"

"We will go back to our section of London and live as if nothing had happened. There will be extra Protectors out and about but that is only because many rebels flee to other parts of the city. There will probably be quite a few Convictings."

I swallow. More Convictings...That means more of the people on the stage. More of the Aristocrats gathering around to watch in mirth. More of the knives scarring the rebel's faces. More of the blood, red cloth being bound over their mouths. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can't tell whether I am happy he answered my questions or sickened by what is inevitable.

"Will there be more of the news reports?"

"No. They're just going to let a riot go unheard and unchecked." Will spits sarcastically as if I asked a stupid question. I inwardly punish myself. It was a stupid question.

As we continue walking down, I see two figures rising from the smoke and Will pulls on me so hard that we both stumble backwards around a corner. Peering out, I suck in a sharp breath. They are rebels, I can tell, by the pins on their bags and hoods pulled over their faces so only their eyes are visible. It's clear that one is a woman and one is a man and that they're running. I don't blame them, though; the distinct line of Protectors are trailing after them. I shift and their eyes snap towards me, my heart quickening.

But then I realize that I would remember those stormy green eyes and glittering blue ones anywhere.

Will stiffens beside me, his smoldering gaze directed at his sister's husband. He is in shock, I can see, but I can tell he is also ashamed that a Herondale, woman or not, is on the _enemy's _side. Cecily doesn't seem to notice, though, by the way she and Gabriel are still making their way down the ruins of the city. I see them slip into an abandoned Aristocrat house and the Protectors lose them partly in the smoke, falling slightly behind. I am glad of it. Cecily is my friend and I support the cause.

I support the Annihilation, but I cannot help but feel worried that we are starting something bigger than we can reverse. We are starting something that will cause the death of hundreds, if not thousands, of people. We are starting something that will transform lives for generations. We are starting something that could change the people, who do survive, for the better.

Then why am I not happy?


	16. Chapter 16

I hold my hands behind my head as the small glass tube revolves around me, making small clicking and whirring noises accompanied by flashes of light that scan my body. To my relief, the overhead light flashes green and the Protector outside the glass case presses a button, ushering me out without a word and beckoning for the person behind me to step up and into the scanner.

Will is right. This station is much more heavily guarded than the one we came to Cheswick on. Then again, its much larger and reaches all the way across England whereas the train we took just covered London. Will is waiting for me on the outside, a perpetual scowl etched into his expression that seems to mar his notably handsome features. Then, I remember, that's the only reason why people look up to Will. He's handsome, rich, sophisticated, and socially comfortable; the makings of a perfect speaker and London representative.

What they don't know is that underneath all the blue and uncanny white smiles and classy suits, he's rotten to the core. Inside, he's ugly and he's messed up in ways that can't be fixed. However, right now, I don't blame him.

I blame his father; filling Will's head with hateful words and inconceivable goals. He's convincing Will to be someone he's not but what hurts me the most is that Will finds it easy, too easy, to comply to his father's wishes. Even if he's angered by his words or doesn't want to do as he is told, Will is too lost and in the dark so when his father dangles a spider thread of hope in front of him, he will take it and accept it.

However, the worst part is that Will will enjoy it.

He will enjoy the power.

He will enjoy the killing.

He will enjoy being able to send chaos over the cities as he watches, perched upon his extravagance and wealth that he calls his throne. He will name himself king and observe as the bodies pile up at his throne. And then I will be there as a dog; not ever able to leave but merely at his feet, pretending to care as I am called a mere _possession _because I remind myself that I am not equal. A pet and a king. A Commoner and an Aristocrat.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I'm thinking too deep. I'm constantly trying to make my observations into storybook atmospheres to try and fool my mind. It doesn't work but at least the false illusions offer some sort of relief from the real world.

"Tessa," Will says sharply, yanking me out of the way of an unsuspecting bystander, "you almost walked into him."

I redden sheepishly because I am clumsy so I try to stare down at the floor, watching my steps as my hand reluctantly finds the crook of his arm, resting there respectfully. Pausing at the row of benches, Will halts by the tracks where the train is going to come. Looking back from where we came, I can see more people filing through the scanner: Bridget, Cyril, Gideon, Sophie...Cecily.

She offers me a wary glance, fixing her mused hair and Aristocratic outfit that she changed into hastily. Waiting for Gabriel, she fidgets, clearly nervous. She taps her foot impatiently, her teeth biting at her bottom lip. Glancing over at Sophie, they exchange knowing glances, their eyes dark with worry. Finally, Gabriel joins Cecily, cleared by the Protectors to board the train. I sigh in relief.

Will is trying to ignore them. I can tell by the way her holds himself, his chin raised and his eyes averted to the train schedule. However, he has a glint of fear in his eyes and he is breathing quickly. I raise my hand to give him a comforting touch but then I catch myself and pull back, bringing my hand to my chest and keeping it there.

Cecily shifts uncomfortably in the mass of people, her hand looped around Gabriel's arm. They do make the most convincing couple, I admit. Then again, they do see to actually enjoy each other's company. Someone shuffles past her and bumps into her, upsetting her balance. It seems like the world has gone slow motion when a red pin falls from inside Cecily's sleeve, falling, falling, falling and hitting the floor with a light, tinny sound. Then the world explodes right back into action.

Gabriel's arms are already behind his back, Protectors forcing him outside.

"Will!" Cecily shrieks when a Protector presses the barrel of a gun to her temple, forcing her back.

Forgetting to stop himself, Will looks over, a breath caught in his throat. He takes in a shuddering gasp and I can see the fear flood over him like a breaking dam and he tears away from me. Running through the crowd, he forces people out of the way, just managing to grab his sister's wrist before she is pulled away and through the door to where Gabriel was put. Two of the Protectors are holding him back, blocking him from the exit as he scrabbles to get to the door. It's translucent and I can see him watching the outline of his sister fighting back, her hair flying wildly with all the spite she has.

I push my hair back, moving through the crowd towards him as I try not to trip. I notice Mr. Herondale on the other side of the walkway, making his way to where his son is because he is ashamed that his son cares so much about his _sister._

The people around us are watching, just staring as Will struggles against the Protectors, just staring as they see Cecily's figure being wrenched back, just staring as they hear a shot ring through the air and she goes limp. Will makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, his eyes dark with burning rage. He shudders, his hair falling over his face as he pants.

Mr. Herondale raises his hand and the Protectors release Will. He stands by his son, looking down with sharp eyes. "William, I expected better of you."

"Better of me?" Will snarls, looking up. "My only sister, _your only daughter_, was in trouble-"

"Rebels will bring down our city." Mr. Herondale says stiffly. "It was for the best that she be eradicated."

"She was sixteen."

"She was a supporter of the Annihilation. No daughter of mine will disgrace the Herondale name."

Will stays silent for a moment before his mouth curls into a malicious grin though there is no joy in his eyes. He laughs humorlessly. "That's all you care about? Our name? Our pride?"

Mr. Herondale narrows his eyes. "And you don't? I don't believe for a moment that you don't care about our legacy and our name. You were starting to adapt so well to the way of a Herondale Aristocrat. I thought I raised a son that was more than a fool." He turns around, looking down. "Straighten up. You should be ashamed to be acting in such an unsightly manner."

When Will takes a shaky breath, sparing one more glance to the outside, he takes my arm and ignores the furious whispers from the audience that gathered around them. He looks almost regretful, the stony expression back on his face and his eyes guarded.

By the time the crowd parts to let us pass, the train has already arrived.

**Author's Note: Back from London! :( It was awesome but now, as most of you know, school is starting up again. (Mines starting next week on monday) Yech. I'm going to try to update at least 2 times a week but I definitely will be more busy than usual. Sorry guys. :( Love, love.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: And thus the rating has been changed to M. I'm just going to warn people and say now that this is probably going to be the smuttiest story I will write...forgive me...I see no way around it. Warning for future chapters.**

"Don't touch me." Will orders, slapping my hand away. I can't help but feel sympathy for him and how his father, who left the train cabin to go to the smoking car, felt about Cecily.

Drawing back my hand, I lean my head against the wall of the train car, biting my bottom lip. Wrapping my arms around me, I sigh, goosebumps prickling my bare arms. It's frightfully cold in the train car, the thin windows and brisk air chilling my skin. Glancing over at Will, I lower my gaze; I have never seen so much hatred and anger in someone's eyes, but his remind me of ice because they cold and hard and unfeeling...And yet not unfeeling. What happened at the station; some might call it worry, others might call it love.

I don't know what to call it but, then again, it doesn't matter what I think anyway. It won't change anything.

"Master Herondale-" _Curse formalities_ "-might I do anything to help?"

He raises on eyebrow, curious at my hesitant tone. Looking over at me, he scowls. "You can't do anything. You're useless."

I flinch. To be obsolete is a disheartening thing. "I could at least offer peace of-"

"What? What can you offer?" He says sharply and angrily, glaring. "My father is right. She was part of the Annihilation, but she didn't need to be killed because of it. My other sister was killed by the orders of my father and the Protectors. What can _you _do? They're gone and you're offering me _condolences_. It's not like you can bring them back. You wouldn't understand."

A spark of rage presses tears at the backs of my eyes and I turn to face him. "You say that I don't understand when its you that understands the least. You always think that your life is so horrible when you have everything! When I was younger, my parents were killed by your kind!" I say, my voice rising as I choke back hot tears of recollection. I clench my fists and my nails dig into my palms. "At ten years old, I was sold and bought like some sort of pet to the Owner. I was _grateful _to have a home and friends and new family even though I was punished with every misstep. We had nothing and you, an Aristocrat, are complaining because of something you lost. Cecily was my friend too."

"She was my sister!"

"You never acted like it until today and even then, you never said anything in her defense. She loved you but you hurt her too and she was scared that-" I break off when he whips a hand towards me, pinning me on the wall of the car. The back of my head is throbbing and I claw at his hand, but he presses harder, his face inches from mine. There is shock in his eyes and there is fear.

But mostly, there is rage.

"Don't you _dare _talk about my sister like that." Will snarls, breathing heavily.

"Or what?" I whisper. "I wish you wouldn't be so violent."

"I don't care if you fear me or hate me-"

"But I don't hate you." I answer, dropping my hand to my side. "I thought I did but now, I just feel pity. You don't have to be like this all the time. Its all because you can't defy your father-"

"This. This is what you don't understand." He says softly, shaking his head. He loosens his grip and pulls me onto the train car seat. His face glazes over again and a sneer replaces his glare. "You don't understand anything. You say that my father has shaped my mind when its yours that is becoming soft. I'm perfectly fine and I agree with all his motives, to protect the city. I would never defy him."

"This is exactly what I mean." I say helplessly, looking at his glinting, blue eyes. "Why do you continue to-" He silences me with a rough kiss, pushing his mouth to mine as he slides one hand behind my head. I gasp in surprise for a moment, but I hold onto him anyway. His eyes are slightly opened and staring at me as my lips instantly move against his, studying me in scrutiny. Sliding a hand under my leg, he hikes it up around his waist, his fingers edging up the bottom of my dress.

I'm just a distraction, I realize, but I don't really care.

Its only natural, I convince myself, that I respond to what he wants but even then, I can feel a lace of agitation in his grasp. There is utter focus in his movements as if he expects something from me, but I just press my eyes close so I can't see the way he's staring at me. He clutches my hip, pulling me against him and slipping a hand between my legs. I shudder against my will, grinding up against him for a euphoric moment as he grins with malice on my parted lips. I know that, deep down in my stomach, I feel utterly sick with myself but I don't really have any control. It only seems instinctive that I, as his fiancée, comply with his wishes.

I can feel his movements stutter and I feel victorious for a moment because, when I open my eyes halfway, his are closed and he doesn't look as focused anymore. Burying my head in his shoulder, I stifle a groan as he twitches his fingers, his hand moving to cup me. However, I muster up my senses and catch his hand, stopping his slight and teasing caresses. "We should s-stop."

"Why?" He asks, his palm pressed against me. His eyes are still a little angry but his mind is off recent events.

"Someone could come in and-"

"No one is coming in." He says, rubbing his palm against the fabric that separates our skin. I can't help but whimper in the back of my throat, my nails digging into his shoulder blades through his suit. This isn't me. I wouldn't do this nor would I allow him to do this, but I am. Satisfied with my reaction, he moves one of his fingertips against me, the strange sensations too much and not enough at the same time.

It is not enough.

Suddenly, I'm moving against him and dragging my nails down his back with fervor and desperation. He hisses between his teeth, but the encouraging look in his eyes shows me that he's not in pain. I yelp when a small shock goes through me and I arch my back as the pressure builds up in my stomach. "Ahh. Will-"

"You ought to be a little quieter." He says sickly sweet, his mouth brushing against my jaw. The apex of my legs are slick with sweat and I feel utterly violated, but I make no effort to stop his movements. "You're so untouched it sickens me." He growls in my ear, but I can hardly process what he's saying. "You're pathetic but you react so deliciously."

"Don't...stop." I say between gritted teeth. It sounds almost like a plea but I can't help it. Not when the throbbing that used to be in the back of my head lowers to where his hand is touching me so intimately.

"Make up your mind." He whispers, his lips grazing my ear. I can feel the tension rising and I'm so close to whatever pleasures lie on the other side of this sweet torture. I've never felt this way and I don't know whether to be frightened but it doesn't matter because I'm aiming for one thing only.

Its so close.

I freeze, my eyes fluttering closed and my body rigid with anticipation.

The pressure tightens.

And then there is nothing. Will withdraws his hand and slides it up to my waist, holding it there with a smug look on his face. I collapse against him, my legs still around his hips and my nails dug half-heartedly into the fabric of his suit. I whimper, my body shaking as the painful tension recedes without resolution. "How does it feel?" Will inquires, a cruel edge to his voice. "How does it feel to have something so close but you can't reach it?" The nausea churns in my stomach again and I inwardly punish myself for getting carried away...But I don't feel all too bad because I'm still shaky and delirious. "You are very pretty," Will says, but it doesn't sound like a compliment, "but not pretty enough that you can get whatever you want."

Looking up, I stare at him in defeat. There is anger and desire and amusement in his eyes, but when I look a little further, all I see is a hurt and broken boy that needs me. I think I can help him. I hope I can because he needs someone to soften his edges.

However, what I don't know yet is that I need him too.

I slink off him and ignore the regret my body feels but then I remind myself that its not like me to be this way. So, I sit up straight and cross my ankles and lay my hands on my lap, waiting, just waiting, for the train ride to end.


	18. Chapter 18

I don't speak for a long time.

I'm shaky.

Confused.

Shameful.

Lowly.

Aroused.

When Will looks over at me, my cheeks blaze a furious red and I look down at the floor. My hair hangs over my face and I dig my nails into the sides of my knees, trying to regain my thoughts. However, he notices and pats the spot beside him, his snide expression a little insulting. Reluctantly, I move towards him, settling uncomfortably at his side. He puts one finger under my chin and forces me to look up. "Whatever is the matter... Miss Gray?"

Though I am burning with both curiosity and embarrassment, I shake my head. "Nothing."

"I'm sure you know by now that," Will leans in close, his breath rustling my hair, "we don't tolerate _liars _in the Herondale family."

"And yet you tolerate hypocrites." I say, pulling back. I sigh in resignation. "I don't understand you. If we're to be married, we ought to at least know each other a little more. Every time I feel like I'm getting close to figuring you out, the gap widens again and you become so distant. You're violent and cruel and yet, you can be soft and kind and that's when I see who you really are. I'm puzzled at what mystery you are, William Herondale."

Momentarily, he seems slightly surprised. "Do all you Commoners speak your mind so blatantly?"

"It was just an observation." When I speak, Will's eyes spark a little rage in them but I can see him trying to force it down. He is quite confusing indeed.

"You're different from all the other girls." He points out, but his voice is flat. "I don't _want _to get married, but I have to because my father says its good for the family. You know, most girls don't get married to their One. Being married means being _faithful and devoted and truly loving the other person. _I don't want to have that responsibility. You're more difficult." Looking away from me, he rests his head on the train car wall. "You act like a slut and you dress like one, but you're not actually one. _That's _what I don't like. You're lying to everyone and I don't know how to treat you because you're always acting like that person you're not."

"That makes two of us then." I say solemnly, but inside, I'm smiling because maybe, just maybe, I found a break in his guarded wall. "Don't you ever feel bad or guilty afterwards?" I immediately regret my question because his expression turns blank and a small sneer forms on his mouth.

"No. It's just called, 'not giving a shit'." He drawls, looking pointedly at me. He narrows his eyes, leaning away from me. "I don't care. I don't see why I should care."

I can think of a million retorts to say to him in which most that would end with a bruised wrist or a reddened cheek, so I just swallow and stare ahead. "I'm sorry about your sister. I really am."

A flash of hurt goes through his expression, but he scowls. "I don't really care. I don't care anymore. It doesn't matter."

I realize then that he doesn't want condolences or small words of comfort. When I look over to him, I see anger and I see humiliation in his eyes. It is then I figure out that, above all, he just wants revenge.

**~~ooo~~**

"So we are the ones still controlling the Condemned and Disloyal stage and the Protectors in that area, correct?" Will asks his father as they step off the train. Clutching onto Will's arm and remembering to softly smile as if I am content, I frown inwardly. So much power can't be good for one family.

"Correct, so, if we are going to make any drastic changes, I suggest we do that now. Because the meeting went unfinished because of obvious reasons, we could not make a proper decision." Mr. Herondale responds, strolling down and out of the train station. "You're eighteen so I presume you will be helping take more charge. This _is_ what you are going to be doing when I am gone. God forbid you burn down the entire city."

Will hisses but doesn't say anything as they make their way up to the house. Pressing his hand to the scanner, it flashes and the door clicks open. "Teddy, Emma." Will calls out, ushering them outside. "Our bags are still in the claim area. Go fetch them."

The two servants do a slight bow before heading silently off and down to the station. Mr. Herondale makes an agitated sound in the back of his throat. "Incompetent servants, they are. It seems that the longer they stay, the lazier they get." He looks at me hard. "And the less respectful they become as well."

I bow my head slightly. "Forgive me."

He grumbles something and heads off into one of the projection rooms to monitor the Protectors. Shrugging off my hand, Will heads towards the library, occasionally glancing behind him to see if I'm following. Of course I am. I don't have any other place to go. However, the strange part is, is that, I'm actually starting to want to be in his company. The more I start to talk to him, the more I realize he is like his sister.

He spends most of his time in the library. I have to admit, it is one of the most elegant and prettiest rooms in the house, not to mention that I adore books. Today, Will doesn't really seem to want to read, though. It's a little concerning because that's normally all he wants to do. He just stands there at one of the bookshelves, his hand paused over a book before he draws it back and reaches for a different one. Turning to me, he beckons me over. Taking my left hand, he holds it up, studying the engagement ring on my finger. "The wedding has been postponed."

I nod almost unperceivably. "Because of the riots?"

"Yes." He looks at me through narrowed eyes, irritation plain in them.

I'm going to become his wife. At seventeen. To me, it seems normal only because of all the books I have read, they all marry young as well. Looking up at him, I sigh. "What am I to you?"

"What?"

"What do you see me as?" I ask with curiosity.

He gives a short laugh. "To put it plainly, you're just a distraction, a toy, a little pretty plaything that I get because I'm an Aristocrat. You're really no more than that."

I turn away from him. That is the answer I expected but...but...I can't help but feel strange. There is a tightness in my chest. Sighing again, I walk towards a different bookshelf, realizing that the strange emotion is disappointment.


	19. Chapter 19

I land face first onto my bed, rolling over and hugging one of the pillows to my chest. I'm achy and I'm tired but I lean over the side of the bed, my hand finding the drawer handle in the dark and sliding out my nightgown. Its cool against my skin and I set it beside me as I kick off my day clothes. They land on the floor as I pull my nightgown on before I sink back into the covers, yanking the blankets over my head. I leave a little crack so I can see the moonlight filtering into my room, reflecting off the smooth white floors, ceiling, and walls. Everything is so white and pristine, its eerie.

Looking over at a small, black tablet built into the nightstand, I wave my hand over it, squinting as a small projection hovers above the tablet. 11:47, the clock reads, and I shut it back off. Its later than I thought. Settling back into my bed, I sigh.

11:48...

11:49...

_11:50_.

I bolt upright, shoving the covers off and leaping out of my bed and onto the floor. _How could I have forgotten? _

Grabbing my shoes, I hastily put them on, not wanting to be late. Moving towards the window, I hook my fingers under the rim, edging it up quietly and wide enough so I can fit through. I wince when my ring taps against the glass and I freeze, but no one comes. Quickly, I jump down onto the grass, shutting the window and racing through the fields. I pray that no one sees me as I shove the long rows of grass out of my way, brambles scratching at my hands and thistles scraping my legs.

When I arrive in the clearing, I look around for Jem, my Jem, but I'm the only one there. The bright lights of London are twinkling as bright as the stars, glaring mockingly at me as I stand by myself, swaying in the wind like a blade of grass. I bite my bottom lip. I'm early. Normally he comes early too, but midnight is always when we say we will meet. Perhaps he got caught up. Perhaps he is just running late. Perhaps he is on his way right now.

The clock tower strikes midnight.

I keep telling myself that he will come.

He _will _come. I know it. He would never leave me hanging unless it was absolutely necessary. He's never late so maybe today was an occasion for him. Maybe the new Commoner girl he is looking after needs him for something. I call out for him, forgetting that I might alert some stray Protectors or anyone who might be near. I fall to my knees, dirtying my nightgown, but I don't care. Jem _will _come. He is close, I convince myself, and he is coming to see me because that is what we promised each other. Minutes that seem like hours pass by and I still force myself to keep up hope because he is my friend and I have hope in him like he has hope in me.

However, I'm still alone.

Alone and afraid.

Alone and waiting for him to come.

But he never does.

**~~ooo~~**

By the time I drag myself back to the house, my tears have dried.

I'm more worried than I am angry, but there is a sharp feeling in my chest that I can't seem to get rid of. When I do make it to the window, I pull myself through it with resignation, landing painfully hard on the floor. Rising to my feet, I fumble with the window, snapping it closed before any dust can get inside.

"Now, now. Just where have you been, my little pet?" A crooning voice says from the edge of my room. Will looks up, his eyes hardly visible in the dim light. I stiffen, my eyes wide with shock. "Miss Gray, I think you know you're not supposed to run away."

"I'm not running away." I try to say without stuttering, swallowing in apprehension. "I just needed fresh air."

Will laughs. "For three hours? I heard something close and I realized you had so _cunningly _escaped from your window. I've been waiting for hours." He straightens, moving towards me with a predatorily look in his eyes, but he just catches me by my waist, pressing me against the wall. "You don't know how kind I've been to you."

"Kind?" I spit, struggling against him.

"A rebellious little girl like yourself ought to be marked as a Disloyal. If I really wanted to, I could make you one the Convicted, but that wouldn't be enough punishment." Will pushes my chin up, his fingers lingering over my throat. "They've started an injection, I've heard, that separates their conscious with their ability to follow orders. It makes them a robotic servant, unable to disobey any commands. However, you wouldn't be you and the pain you would feel would be muffled thanks to the serum. Being Convicted is too good for you." He sighs, looking down and catching my hand, studying the small cuts from the brambles and thorns. "It doesn't work on all people. Some of the test subjects they've tried it on have diseased and died...but, it is a rare occurrence." He frowns. "You're filthy from running through the field."

"I don't care. I don't care." I say hopelessly, sagging in his grasp. "I'd rather be alone as a Commoner than be here."

"Unfortunately, you don't get to choose." Will pointed out, a blade of malice in his tone. He grabs my wrist, pulling me painfully to the bathroom where he settles me in front of the bathroom sink. Filling it up with water, he avoids my gaze as he dips my hand in scrubbing off the dirt and blood. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. "You shouldn't be so careless. I'm tired of you wearing gloves all the time."

"It's mainly your fault." I hiss when the hot water stings my cuts, but I don't pull away. Draining the water, he takes a towel, drying them off and ignoring when small, red drops stain the fabric. Setting the towel aside, he finds the bottom of my nightgown, taking it off me unceremoniously and discarding it on the floor.

"There's another nightgown in the drawer closest to the door." Will says, shamelessly looking at me through dark lashes. "That one is too torn and dirty for you to wear again." I nod slightly, moving with shyness out of the bathroom and towards the drawer. Before I make it, Will reaches out and takes my arm, a little hint of frustration in his eyes. "I really would refrain from sneaking out again, Tessa. It isn't in my nature to play nice and," he smirks; his lip curls in amusement, "you are just too delicate for such ways."

I close my eyes, looking away from him. "Yes, Master Will."


	20. Chapter 20

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

The daggers sink deep into the target, meeting the red circle painted in the middle nearly every time. Will pushes his hair from his eyes, staring determinedly from a frame of thick lashes. A small pocket watch is hung on the wall, making small clicking noises through the silence when he pauses to collect his daggers. He looks irritated, but I just look down, reading my book. _A Tale of Two Cities _is one of my favorite books, but the distractions and constant thoughts infecting my mind make it hard to focus.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Yanking his daggers from the target, he stands back into position, poised to throw the dagger. He says its just a hobby. I used to think it was just because he was violent, but now, it feels like he is preparing for something. The Annihilation, we all know, is starting, and the security of our safety is diminishing, leaving us with just the tools in our hands. Will, if I may add, is very adept with daggers.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Will scowls as he glances over at the hanging pocket watch, the steading whirrs and clicks upsetting his concentration. However, when he does throw the dagger, it lands perfectly in the center, quivering with stolen momentum. Its strange to see him so casually dressed for his stature, his suit coat left in his room, the top of his shirt unbuttoned and his tie askew. He is very good looking. Jem is as well, but is a thousand times kinder, almost an opposite of Will, but he is missing or late or busy. He isn't dead. I would know if he is in my heart, but then again, I _knew_ in my heart that we would be able to escape and I was wrong about that. I don't know what to trust now.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Glaring, Will picks up another dagger, holding it confidently in his fingers.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Turning towards the target, he narrows his eyes, readying his stance to throw.

_Tick. Tick. Ti-_

At the last moment, he whips the dagger at the wall, piercing the pocket watch through the glass and pinning it against the wall. The ticks stop abruptly and he wipes his hands together. I give him a scathing look, seeing the dagger just inches from my head. "What was that for?" I ask, my eyes undoubtedly wide. "You could have hit me."

Will laughs, a smirk forming on his mouth. "A good shot like me? I doubt it?" He glanced over at the dagger. "It was bothering me anyway and I knew I wouldn't miss. I almost _never_ miss." Taking his daggers from the target, he lays them on the table before pulling the dagger out of the wall and letting the pocket watch fall to the floor. There are small shards of glass littering the white, slippery floor, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. I suspect its the second one. Spinning it between his fingers, his sucks in a sharp breath of air when it nicks his fingertip, a drop of dark, crimson blood welling up at his skin.

I stand up slowly, hugging the book to my chest. "May I..." I start hesitantly, "go back to my room? I'd just like to put this back."

"Mmhmm." He says absent mindedly, not looking at me, but when he gets to the door to exit, he pauses. "It was Ella's."

I frown in confusion. "What?"

"The room. You asked me a long time ago whose room it was." Will sighs, looking down as he tightens the blade in his grasp. "That was hers until she was sent to Wales." He bites his bottom lip, his eyes darkening with anger. "I just thought you would like to know."

"Your sister...Older?"

"It doesn't matter, but yes."

"You talk about her often."

"I don't care anymore." Will spits, his mood taking a turn for the worse. "I really don't care about a damn thing anymore. It's not like-" Will breaks off suddenly, letting out a hiss of pain. There is a long cut across his palm and he drops his dagger on the floor, blood smeared across the blade. Slowly, red starts dripping down his hand and onto the floor, looking especially stark against the white of the floor. Instinctively, I move to his side, taking his hand and looking at the cut.

"Are you al-"

"I'm fine." He snarls, batting my hand away and smearing a small line of blood across my arm. There is a certain pain that I know is only physical to a point and there is fear. He _does _care, but I can tell he is afraid that he will be broken again.

And again.

And again.

I want to make sure he is alright. I want to help him because I know that we have more in common than he thinks. I want to tend to his wounds both physical and mental; it is what is right. However, by the time I raise my head and move to reach out and catch him, he is gone and I am left alone.

Again.

**~~ooo~~**

I am walking slowly. Slow and steady, watching my footsteps and counting them like I count my breaths.

One.

Two.

Three.

I almost walk into the Bayliss girl as I stare down at the floor. Snapping my gaze up, my eyes instantly dart to the scars on her cheekbones, signifying her status as a Disloyal. "I'm...I'm sorry." I apologize profusely, stepping out of her way.

She's a fragile and quiet girl, with two ragged braids of straw- like blond hair, tied together with a pink ribbon. At almost a head shorter than me, she looks more like a small child than she does a servant. She _is _still a child, though, barely fourteen. Its the first time I ever hear her speak when she looks at me and fidgets with her hands. "Is Master Herondale with you? I've been looking for him."

"I'm not sure where he is." I admit, twisting a finger in a stray curl. "Why do you need him?"

"Meeting." She answers simply, moving past me. "He is summoned."

Instantly, curiosity burns inside of me. "For what?"

"I don't know." The Bayliss girl responds. "It sounds serious, though. It has something to do with the riots. You know him better than I do, Miss Gray, perhaps you should go find him."

"Tessa. You can just call me Tessa." I try to smile a little bit at the small girl, bending down a little to meet her height. "I don't believe I ever recall your name."

She looks at me sheepishly. "Emma." Pulling at one of her braids, she runs a finger across her scar. "You can just call me Emma."


	21. Chapter 21

"Will." I say hesitantly, seeing him facing the city below him as he stays perched on the balcony railing.

"Go away." He spits, glancing behind him with rage in his expression. There's a bandage on his hand, but I don't point it out. Digging his nails into the marble railing, he mutters something under his breath. "Leave me alone."

"You've been summoned for a meeting." I say adamantly, moving forward to place my hand on his shoulder. He whips his hand back, smacking me across the mouth as he slides off the railing. My face grows hot as I taste coppery blood where my tooth cut the inside of my lip, a murderous look in his eyes as if he'd be more than happy to do it again. Stepping backwards, I raise my hand, ducking down slightly to shield myself. Instead, he just stands there, his hands clenched at his sides and his jaw set in fury.

"I don't want you here, Tessa. Leave." He orders, but I stand my ground warily.

"Its urgent, they say." I insist, watching as his features darken. "It's about the riots."

To my surprise, he just makes an exasperated sound in the back of his throat, leaning his forehead up against his hand. "I don't want to worry myself with those. Meetings have always been a waste of my time." Will snaps, though he runs a hand through his hair and opens the door to the inside. I follow him, trying to step quietly not so he doesn't notice me, but so he doesn't make note of my presence and doesn't speak to me. I don't want to talk to him. He's too confusing and sparks too many questions that he fails to answer, and, when he does answer them, they leave me hanging for more.

When we first walk into the meeting room, I am immediately surprised at seeing three Protectors lined up in it, their masks pulled over their faces and guns hooked at their belt. Mr. Herondale is at the table, speaking with another young Aristocrat I have never seen before. There is a small projection in the shape of a small syringe hovering over a pad, animated in peculiar ways. Looking up, Mr. Herondale gestures for Will to sit, but I just stand on the sidelines, waiting.

"Its almost a one hundred percent chance the new serum works now that we have updated the chemical balance." The Aristocrat says proudly, zooming in on the projected syringe. "The tranquilizer in it helps attack the conscious nervous central, shutting off the persons opinions, free will, and emotions, but still makes it so they will comply to your wishes as a trained pet might do."

Mr. Herondale raises an eyebrow. "Any side effects?"

"Some, but they are very rare." The Aristocrat explains. "Sometimes, the body fights the drug, making the drug useless against them. However, though the subject may act somewhat normal, they are prone to having fits and periods where they can't control themselves because the serum is fighting for control. This has induced violence towards others and self affliction, but it has only happened on two test subjects out of over a hundred."

"Good, good." Mr. Herondale drones, moving forward to turn the projection off. The light coming out of the pad dims, the syringe fading and disappearing. "How long after injection does it take to fully activate."

"Anywhere between a few days to a week, so fairly quickly."

"Then start using it for the servants. I don't really understand why you had to clear it with me, first."

The Aristocrat shifts uneasily. "You were the one that requested you be given all the details before it went into use. And, because of your status in the government, it is only customary that I, as part of the family who created the serum, ask for your permission, my Lord."

It is then that I realize he is the son of Henry Branwell, a scientist's and inventor's son. No wonder the serum was created by his family. Henry Branwell is brilliant, if a little far fetched, but an undeniable genius. They are Aristocrats, but only just above Commoners, giving them little respect in such a wealthy and sophisticated lifestyle.

"I don't understand what this has to do with the riots." Will interrupts before his father can answer. "What is my place here?"

"Oh, yes." Mr. Herondale stands up, flicking his hand at the Protectors. "While I escort young Charles out, I do put all my faith in you that you will decide the right thing." He drawls, opening the door and gesturing for Charles to follow him. The doors slam shut and Will just stares at the Protectors, a bored look on his face.

"Well?" Will asks, looking expectantly at the Protectors. "No need to stand on ceremony." One of the Protectors moves towards the main projector to show him something, but Will holds up his hand, pointing at the Protector's mask. "The mask. Off. It is strange talking to a blank face." With a little reluctance, the Protector reaches up, lifting his black mask from his face. It makes them seem so much more human when I see their face, and I'm a little surprised when I see a mess of black hair and kohl rimmed eyes. At the same time, I half expected it as well. Magnus is one of the most renowned Protectors England has ever seen. "Now," Will sighs, leaning back in his chair, "continue."

"Yes, my Lord." Magnus says with a hint of contempt and sarcasm in his voice. He's a brutal and effortless fighter, but everyone always knows he has a problem with authority. Bringing up the projection, he splits it in half, showing the part of Chiswick and the Protector's detaining area. "Over in this location," Magnus points to the edge of Chiswick, "there is a storage facility."

"What about it?"

"During the riot last week, Protectors caught and detained three rebels. They are currently being held in the Protector's detaining area closest to you, and, seeing as you are the highest class family nearest to it," Magnus says, saying something under his breath that sounds vaguely like mores the pity, he draws a line between the Herondale house and where the rebels are being held, "you get the power of deciding their fate."

"How fun." Will sneers, smirking as if he's a cat that just found a particularly amusing moth fluttering about. He clenches his hands, wincing slightly when the cut on his hand pulls and his nails dig into it. "I get to decide?"

"Yes." Magnus answers plainly with impatience in his voice. Zooming out of the projection, he points at a building. "They're right there...waiting."

Will taps his fingers on the table in front of him, still looking down. "That serum I've heard about...why not use it?" Will laughs humorlessly, a little bit of anger in his squared shoulders and gravelly tone. "They are rebels For the Annihilation. What they don't realize his that they are weak without the power we have." He stops tapping his fingers, "Magnus."

"What will it be?" Magnus inquires, pulling his black mask back on again with an irritated glint in his strangely colored eyes. "My Lord?"

"Convict them." Will snarls, raising his eyes to look at the projection. "Convict them all."


	22. Chapter 22

"It's gruesome and it's sick." I say, putting my hands on my hips and looking at Will. He just stares at me in nonchalance and frustration, pulling me into the elevator and pressing the lobby button.

"It's tomorrow and it doesn't really get swayed whether you like it or not." Will spits, leaning up against the elevator wall. Pulling a packet of papers from his suit jacket, he holds them in one hand, flipping through them with not much interest. "You have read _A Tale of Two Cities_ and you enjoy that book. Does Sydney Carton not get publicly executed? It really is no different than doing public Convictings and yet, you complain at how it's barbaric and inhumane it is. Doesn't that strike you as a tad ironic?" He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Besides, it frightens the people and keeps them in line. The Convicting on the stage does help remind us of all the violence we went through, the Reformation Revolution, and what will happen if people threaten to upturn it."

The Reformation Revolution, I have heard, was a long battle fought with England against Wales and Scotland to get where we are today. Of course, it is nearing its thirty year anniversary, so I wouldn't know the details. Opting to keep quite rather than continuing our pointless argument, I just keep my mouth shut, which is near impossible for me. When the elevator stops and I step out, I see a voting area and I can't help but look at it in curiosity.

"What's that for?" I ask, gesturing at the ballot collectors and people crowded around the voting tabs. Will snorts, an amused look on his face.

"It's just a stupid vote for which family they think should control the west." Will sighs, his chin raised as he runs a hand through his hair. "It's rigged." Glancing over at the Aristocrats and Commoner women around the ballots, he shakes his head. "They're all fools." Folding his papers in half, he turns to me, his eyes flitting over to an enclosed door that has a sign for Ordering and Buying. "Wait here." He says, seating me back in a chair near the door.

"What are you doing?"

"It's none of your business."

I frown. "Is it about the Annihilation?"

He hesitates for a moment as he turns his back on me, his fingers crinkling the edges. "It's nothing you need to know." He mutters before walking away, opening the Ordering and Buying door and disappearing behind it. There's a little bit of disappointment and nosiness that gnaws at me, but I just cross my legs and lay my hands on my lap, waiting patiently.

I look down, fiddling subconsciously with my hands and worrying myself with troublesome thoughts. Jem had always been the worrier but it seems like lately, I have been covering for his absence. It's difficult not to dwell on mistakes, confusion, and regrets. When I raise my head, I blink, finding myself looking into two very large, very green, eyes.

"You're the one that's with Mister Herondale, aren't you?" The girl says, clasping her hands together. She beams, putting her face between her hands. "You're so very lucky, you are! I would give anything to be with him."

I force a smile, shrinking back slightly. "Nice to meet you, Miss..?"

"Tatiana." She says dramatically, clasping her hands together. "Tatiana Lightwood." Swirling around in a circle, she giggles, giving herself the appearance of a ten year old. I've seen her once, I think, but I can't be entirely sure. "You're the talk of the girls. They're all so jealous that you get Mister Herondale, no matter what the bad things people say about him. He's devilishly handsome, don't you think?"

I almost contradict her, but I can't. Not when there might be people listening and waiting for someone to step out of line. Saying anything that doesn't support Will and his family is considered an offense and there have been incidents where women who talk vulgarly about their One are marked as possible rebels. It's silly and stupid and nonsense, but its what the people are trained to do.

"I'm very lucky," I say carefully, trying to keep the edge off my tone, "that I have been placed with such a...capable suitor."

"Rupert's capable," Tatiana huffs, "but he's not nearly-" she breaks off, putting her hand to her mouth to silence herself. "He's a great husband."

"You're married?" I ask, surprised.

She pulls her lips to the side, shrugging. "No, but its like we are." Uncomfortable, she bites her lip. "Are you going tomorrow to the Convictings?"

"Not by choice." I answer warily, pushing a perfectly curled strand of hair from my face. "It's cruel."

"It's important." Tatiana raises an eyebrow, her green eyes stormy. "Besides, normally, not as many people go, but tomorrow, I've heard they are testing something new. Won't that be interesting? The Convicted people deserve it so I don't feel bad or anything. Rupert supports it as well."

They're all inhuman; they're inhumane.

They're all tyrannical.

Radicals.

Crazy.

Sick.

I think of Gabriel and Cecily and I think of how Benedict Lightwood must be and how he feels his family legacy will be. With his sons being part of the Annihilation, its impossible for them to keep their family name spotless. The name Lightwood will be stained forever. I look slowly back up at Tatiana, my voice cool and distant. "Well, Miss Lightwood, I do hope you and your...One have a mirthful time tomorrow. I do hope marriage works out and you become a Blackthorn. It would be in your favor." I'm only a little guilty when I see her expression grow offended. I haven't always been so rude; living with Will has changed me.

Her face immediately brightens when the door opens and Will walks through with a sour expression. Jumping up, she smiles, her eyes looking at him in a way that a child might look at a puppy. "Mister Herondale!"

"Dear god, Tatiana." Will scowls, walking past her and grabbing my wrist to pull me up. "Let's go. I'm finished here."

"Wait! I've only just seen you. You can't possibly be leaving now." Tatiana complains, sticking out her bottom lip. "I don't understand why you won't stay a few minutes and meet Rupert."

"Because you're here." Will snaps bitterly, narrowing his eyes and looking behind him.

"Can I-"

"Honestly, Tatiana-"

"Just-"

"Leave-"

"Ask for-"

"Me-"

"One thing-"

"Alone!" Will says angrily at her, skidding to a halt. "You've already been made a fool of and then you keep proceeding to chase after unrequited feelings. Whatever happened in the past isn't important now. Go away and grow up a little."

Tatiana coos. "You're still irresistible."

"And you're still a turn off." Will ignores the surprised glances from the bystanders around him and continues on. I feel almost ashamed and, when I glance at Tatiana's hurt and lovesick expression, I feel a shocking pang of jealousy.

"Who is she?" I inquire when we board the elevator again, my wrist still caught in his grasp. It doesn't hurt as much anymore when his grip tightens in irritation, his blue eyes murderous.

"No one." He growls, his voice low and almost inaudible. I almost want to ask another question but I find the willpower to stay silent. He needs his space. Perhaps things did not go as planned or, a more likely reason, he's just in a bad mood.

Either way, we ride the rest of the elevator up in silence.


	23. Chapter 23

I'm glad when Will says he's too busy to attend the Convicting.

I've noticed that he has been doing more of his work lately. In the morning, when I walk past his room, there are signed sheets, flickering projections with dying batteries floating mid air and stacks of papers on his desk. I am inclined to ask him what he is working on, but he's irritated, more than usual. I just sit in the extra room downstairs; my head rests against the glass window and I occasionally look outside to where I can see some of London. The Convicting stage is visible and I can see that its not much of a stage, despite it's name. It's a little bit of a raised area pressed into the corner of a building with a short, stone wall ringing around it. It's still large, with a post with two hooks on it that connect to handcuffs on either side.

The dimly lit streets are illuminated by small, white lights edging the sidewalks. I can hardly see the shapes inside the Convicting stage and the people around it. There are few tonight around the fence lined about like people watching a dog fight. They're tilting their heads towards each other, whispering and gossiping about who is getting Convicted. They enjoy it's brutality and it makes me nauseas.

Obscured by the clouds, the ever darkening sky remains gray and violet, covering any excess light from the setting sun. Looking back towards the door, I sigh. Will has locked himself in his room the entire day with his papers and lights and paper cuts that only help to disturb him further. When I glance back down, I can see silhouettes in the stage. The first one, a girl who I can't see clearly, is settled by the post because she is struggling, her hands tied behind her back and clasped onto the hooks. I think the Protectors do it at night so they don't attract as much attention, but people go to it anyway because they consider it important to the society. If the government really didn't want civilians watching, they would have made it secret and indoors.

Sadistic, stuck up idiots.

I'm getting crude, I realize, and I silence my hateful thoughts.

A ripple goes through the murmuring crowd as they draw the black, fabric bag from the girls face and I squint, but I still can't recognize her. All I can see is a glint of black hair. She's still kicking and biting and I see the Protector closest to her pull a cloth out and clasp it over her mouth. She goes limp as she breathes in the temporary tranquilizer, her movements slowly dwindling. One of the Protectors draws a clear syringe with some sort of glowing, gold serum in it and I can't help but stare as they bring it to her neck, pushing it into her. I want to tear my gaze away, but I can't as the girl struggles, the prick at her neck glowing slightly. Watching as the Protector withdraws a specialized dagger from his belt as another Protector holds the girls face still, I cringe, the view of her mouth obscured by black gloves.

When they draw away and quickly tie a red cloth around her mouth, the front is black with blood, more dark liquid dripping down her chin. I gasp a little when I see the girl look up at me dizzily when the chloroform wears off her and I can swear she can see me but I know she's too far and the only thing she can possibly see of me is a figure in the window. She hangs her head back down as the Protectors unclip her hands and she doubles over, her head jerking as if she's trying to shake the binding off.

However, they just grab her arms and drag her off to a holding facility.

And they just move on.

I'm about to let the curtain fall over the window when I see them bring another person from the side. He's calm, tall, and slim and I can't see anything clearly as they pull the fabric from his head, but I immediately recognize him. I would recognize him anywhere.

Jem.

My Jem.

For a moment, I just stand there with my hands pressed against the glass and I can't breath because I can see him and it's no mistaking that its him. I find myself pulling away from the window, swinging the door to the room open and I'm running towards the main door when Will walks out and sees me. He calls after me but I only hear him in the back of my mind as I swing the heavy door open and I'm stumbling, tripping, sprinting down the staircase.

The Protector raises a syringe, the dark, glowing liquid glaring accusingly at me.

I'm clumsy and I trip for a moment, but I hold my hand out and I catch myself on a wall, my hand scraping across it. The streets are smooth from where vehicles rarely touch it because of the increase in train usage and I almost fall again, but I make it to the crowd and shove people out of the way.

Moving dark hair out of the way from his neck, the Protector starts to move the syringe towards Jem with caution, focusing on his one and only job.

Ignoring the angry murmurs of people around me, I jump over the stone wall and run into Jem, pushing him down to the ground so he doesn't get injected. I can see his eyes flash with shock, his mouth slightly parted as he sees me. Then, there are hands and arms wrenching me back and I try to fight but I'm just a Commoner and they're too strong and I'm outnumbered.

I hate crying in public, but I just feel a throb of worry go through my heart as hot tears slip down my face and I look over at the Protector with the syringe and I see the serum still lacing the inside of it. I'm relieved.

Until I see that it is less than half full.

I twist my head around and Jem has pushed himself to his feet even though his hands are still cuffed and I see glowing liquid trailing down a small dot on his neck. I give a choked cry and try to pull away from the Protectors holding me back but I can't. For a moment, I see Will heading through the crowd as well, but I just stare at Jem and blink as my eyes are still watering despite my efforts to stop them.

"Theresa?" He whispers, his voice heartbreakingly soft.

Violently, I tear myself away from the Protectors and wrap my arms around him but I'm already too late. The sickly sweet smell of chloroform floods my nose and I feel like my body has been replaced with molasses.

I'm falling.

Slipping.

Darkening.

And there is nothing before I hit the ground.

**Author's Note: :) That was predictable. For those who know me...I couldn't just leave Jem...right? hahaha. I just started school today. Thank the Angel I have minimum days all week but, as I said in an earlier chapter, updating will be slower... :(**

**Love, love,****MortalShadowhunter**


	24. Chapter 24

White ceiling.

White walls.

Black sheets.

By the time I wake, all I can see are blurry shapes of my room around me.

The blankets are soft beneath my fingertips and I feel around for a moment. My head is throbbing and my hands have pins and needles but I manage to lift my head and sit up. The world is still spinning and the sweet scent is still clogging my nose so I just lean against the bed headboard and sit there. I'm a little confused and it's still dark outside and I want to stand but I'm too dizzy. Instead, I just wave my hand over the black pad and I glance over. It reads 10:28. It's late. I wish I could go to sleep but I'm too worried.

When Will looks into the room, his expression is furious but I can see him force the anger down. His eyes are dark; darker than the raging oceans that I have only read about in my books. They are darker than the night sky and a thousand times colder but I just have one thing on my mind. I rake a hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. "Jem?" I whisper, pulling my knees to my chest. "Was he Convicted?"

"He is here." Will says plainly, a cruel edge to his voice. "Thanks to you, Protectors will be patrolling the house for the remainder of the night. They assume you are part of the Annihilation." He makes a displeasured sound in the back of his throat.

A snatch of a quote plays in my head._ Dominance. Control. These things the unjust seek most of all. And so it is the duty of the just to defy dominance and to challenge control. _What have I done? I interrupted a Convicting. No doubt there will be others talking about how William Herondale's One protected a soon-to-be Convicted. They will suspect and they will burrow deeper into the gossip and rumors. Rumors, of which, that will be eventually made into truth because everything that had once been has been demoted to truth. First me, then Will, then the family name...If the Herondales, because of one stupid thing I did, develop a reputation as rebels, the Annihilation could erupt.

I bury my face in my hands and I don't say anything because I'm blinking fast to get rid of the guilty and regretful tears. "And now I have ruined _everything_." I whisper, pushing my palms over my eyes. I don't want to cry. I hate crying in front of people. Instead, I think about Jem because he is here and he is well. Kind of. "Why did you save him?" I ask, my voice hesitant.

"I didn't save him." Will hissed, a hint of something I can't discern in his voice. "He will keep you favorable, and if you are not-"

"Is that a threat?" I inquire softly, a spark of anger in my chest.

Will doesn't answer. He only leans his head against the doorframe and scowls. "I went through an awful lot of paperwork for him not to be cut. Pity, he's already injected so he'll turn into a Convicted with time. What a waste."

"Is he alright?"

Again, he ignores me. "Stay in your room. I would _hate _for you to be caught outside when others are already starting to suspect sinister things. You're embarrassing and a joke for a One," he says languidly, "but if you become harmful to what name I have left, I'm afraid I'd just have to cast you out."

I know he's going to say no, but I don't think before I let the question slip out of my mouth. "Can I see him?"

To my surprise, Will just lets out a short laugh, a smirk forming on his face. "Technically, you _can _go see him, but I don't give you permission to." Turning around, he pauses, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "Besides, he doesn't _want_ to see you." He spits before shutting the door accusingly.

Doesn't want to see me?

Sinking back into the covers, I try to choke down anger and frustration and hate and worry because that's all I am. That's what my life has shaped me to be. I pull my pillow over my head and press my face into the sheets. When I finally manage to suppress the waves of emotions and I resign to sleep, it is already midnight.

**~~ooo~~**

Will lets out an exasperated sigh, tapping his fingers on the desk as he watched the projection in the air. It is almost like a television, I have read, though I have never seen a real television set because they were all thrown away and recycled. I've seen pictures, though, and I don't understand why anyone would have one. They're much too bulky and have too many wires.

There's some sort of news channel on about another riot and I don't want to watch.

But I steal a glance here and now anyway.

There's an interruption on the news report and a small alert comes up in the corner. Standing reluctantly to his feet, Will makes his way down the hall to the door. When he sees me next to him, he pushes me behind him and glares at me. Reaching forward, he opens the door, looking out. "Camille. What are you doing here?"

Camille, a middle aged but still younger looking woman, stands at the door with bags in her hands, her green eyes glinting. "Mister Herondale." She says, a slight French accent thickening her vowels. "Your mother ordered some things for Miss...Gray?"

"Just Tessa." I correct but Will pushes me back again.

"I'm here for Tessa-"

"Gray. Miss Gray." Will says, always a stickler for formalities when it came to others.

"You musn't need to confuse everybody." I argue. "You are always so-" Will glares at me again, silencing the words that I almost let slip from my mouth.

"I'm here for Miss Gray's fitting." Camille explains, holding the bags up.

Will snorts, a sneer forming on his face. "I'm sure _Miss Gray _is able to dress in her own clothes."

"These ones are specially made for the new fashion. I must make sure they are fitting before she can wear them." Glancing at me, she raises an eyebrow. "I must see whether they are fit for an almost Aristocrat's wife. Miss Herondale insisted that I come assist Miss Gray for they are different than the clothes she is used to wearing, but they are the style of dress that is starting to trend."

"Such feminine talk surely must be monotone after a while for even women." Looking with boredom at Camille, Will shrugs in annoyance. "Do come in, Camille." He says, opening the door. Moving out of my way, he ushers me to Camille. "Go try on your _clothes _and don't take too much time. We have plans."

"Yes, your highness." I say softly, our eyes locking as we move past each other. I'm quiet when I go to my room with Camille at my side, her green eyes scanning the hallways.

"It's a lovely place the Herondales have."

"It is." I say simply, not wanting to argue with her. She looks pleasant enough but her voice is cool and demanding, as if she's testing me. When I open my door, she steps inside, setting the bags down on the end of my bed. Taking boxes from the bags, she opens them, taking out pieces of clothing and laying them out.

"They are more difficult to assemble, but fashion is such a pain anyway." She says, her French accent rolling her Rs. I don't fight her when she undoes the back of my dress, pulling it down and untangling my legs from it. The dress is heavy with adornment and I feel so much lighter without it. However, when she turns me around and wraps something dark red around my chest, I suck in a sharp breath. "It's a corset; very popular in the Victorian Ages."

"Victorian Ages?" I gasp as she pulls on the strings, tightening it. "There's a reason why it went out of style."

"Nonsense. It never went out of style. People merely just got sick of wearing such restrictive outfits." Camille scoffs, tugging on the laces again. I squeak when I feel it tighten around my stomach, making me feel impossibly skinny. "All of those Victorian women and their dresses: beautiful! I'm not dressing you in a full skirt so don't worry, but corsets are becoming a trend. In fact, all Victorian wear is becoming the norm."

Now that I think about it, she's right. Tatiana yesterday was wearing a short petticoat and Will almost always wears tailcoats. However, I still huff. "I hate the way it feels because it seems like my insides are going to be squeezed out!"

"Now that is no way for a lady to talk." Camille scolds, tying a bow and stepping back to grab a petticoat. She makes me step in it and settles it at my waist where the bottom of the skirt hardly touches my mid thigh. Then, she takes another skirt, pulling it over and clasping it in back. It's short and it's uncomfortable, but she's right. It is beautiful. It's a dark auburn with traces of black lace at the edges that bells out at my, almost scarily skinny, waist. I've always known that I was slim, but when I see her place her hand on my stomach and back to straighten me, her fingers almost span across my stomach.

It makes me feel like, without such tight and heavily garnished clothes, I'm not good enough.

What am I saying? I'm a Commoner. Of course I'm not good enough.

"It's absolutely darling." Camille breaks the silence, pursing her lips and smiling. Setting several other corsets and skirts on my dresser, she pats them. "I assume you have some servants to help you dress."

"Two." _And a half._ I almost say, but I catch myself.

Jem is not a Convicted.

Yet.

The serum will change him and I will loose Jem until he is just a slave to commands.

I take a shuddering breath and sit on the edge of my bed. Camille crosses her arms placidly, stroking one of her blond curls. "Did I lace it too tight? Mostly girls who I fit don't have too much trouble once they adjust."

"Other girls must have adapted to not breathing, then." I say, looking up. "It's fine. It's uncomfortable-"

"But it's very pretty." Camille finishes, taking the empty boxes and shoving them into the bag. Looking at me, she smiles slightly and, in that moment, her sharp green eyes and sad smile looks familiar. They aren't a stormy green like the Lightwood eyes, but edged like grass and sea glass shards. I search my mind but I can only see a person with a smudge of black hair and a pained expression. She raises an eyebrow. "Miss Gray, is everything alright?"

"Yes." I say, standing back up and discarding my other dress, my old dress, into a drawer. "Thank you."

"It's my job." She glances back at me and makes way to the door. "I think Will is going to be very pleased tonight."

As if.

"I hope so." I smile as she exits. Dinner tonight again.

Attention and people staring.

Gossip and whispers.

Showing us off.

Heading to the bathroom, I pull out my makeup and I carefully curl my eyelashes and I brush them with mascara. It's instinctive and robotic when I line my eyes with eyeliner and I put on lipstick and gloss and blush and powder and eye shadow until I look in the mirror and I see someone pretty but I see someone fake. Only when I stare into my reflection for a long time and I hear Will calling my name do I finally see me. I only get a glimpse of Tessa but, when I do, I know Will is not going to be pleased.

So I curl my hair and tuck it back into an up do and I look at myself again. By now, Will is at my door, clicking it open and coming into the bathroom. He gives me a once over and he looks blank.

This is the Tessa he sees.

This is the Tessa he knows.

**Author's Note: Heyo my lovelies! :) I hope you enjoy this chapter. (I made it slightly longer...hopefully I think). People have asked if this is going to be Jessa or Wessa so, in a brief answer to that, I'll just say that this story will have it's fair share of silvers and blues and storms and waves. I also created a roleplay so check that out if you want to and don't forget to TID on.**

**Love, love,  
MortalShadowhunter**


	25. Chapter 25

Will looks different today.

More tired.

Hopeless.

Open.

Human.

The skies have already darkened and we're walking back from dinner when he pulls me across the street and into the park. Hyde park has been there for centuries; anyone who had read the history books would know that it dates back to 1536. It's very pretty and it hasn't yet been covered by buildings and tracks and concrete that hides the natural beauty of some things. It is nice to see such vibrant colors when our whole world is full of blacks and whites.

"I don't want to go back." He says, walking onto the path. "Not yet." He got a message during dinner, one that sullied his mood and I wonder what it was about, but I don't ask. I just walk beside him and keep to myself. The wind is chill and, in my new outfit, it is cold at my fingertips and warm at my waist. I let go of a shiver that I had been suppressing. His hand finds mine and he clasps down over it, strangely comforting. "Are you cold?"

"I'm fine." I say, though my voice is soft and chattering. I arch an eyebrow. "You're quiet today."

"Well, aren't you just a clever thing." Will says with sarcasm.

"Someone came up to you and you ignored them."

"I'm not quiet, I'm just good at figuring out who's worth conversing with." Will says placidly. Glancing behind him, he sighs, exasperated. "Besides, it was _Aloysius Starkweather_." Making a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat, Will crossed his arms. "One smart ass comment away from getting utterly sliced to bits. He's insane-"

"And you aren't?"

Will doesn't respond, merely walking down the path in silence. So I just stare up at the graying violet smeared skies. And I look at the lake and the small birds fluttering over it. And I look at Will's face, which is shadowed and cut out in the sharp shadows. He almost looks like a charcoal drawing, his expression oddly peaceful though guarded. I begin to wonder again what was in the message he got and I see he notices me staring at him. When he does finally pull us off the path and into the direction to the house, which seems too far for my sore feet, we walk through the cold air without talking.

But my hand in his is warm.

**~~ooo~~**

It isn't until it is nearly midnight and I am laying in bed that I realize that I didn't hear the familiar tapping of footsteps down the hall. I want to go see if Will is still out in the main room but I catch myself.

_It is dangerous to discover._

I sit up.

_Screw that._

Throwing the covers off, I pad down the hallway, cringing when I stumble over the slippery floors. I don't fall, though, and I round the corner of the hall. It feels like I've been walking forever since the house is so big, but I can finally see a slight glow from the main room. Will is sitting on one of the flat, cushioned benches near the great expanse of window, his back facing me. There are a couple bottles on the table in the middle of the room, but I don't pay them any mind.

"Will?" I say softly.

He doesn't turn around.

He doesn't tell me to go away.

He doesn't do anything, and that's what scares me the most.

Despite my common sense, I go over to him, sitting beside him and looking out of the window. Slowly, he does notice me and turns his gaze to me, his eyes almost violet in the low lighting. He's radiating heat and his face is flushed but it's freezing in the room. "Why did you come out here? I thought you were-"

"Sleeping?" I finish, frowning. "I didn't hear you go to your room. I was curious."

"You're always so nosy, Tessa." Will says, standing back up, wavering slightly. He makes his way a tall table that separates the casual dining room from the main room and he draws a bottle from a black cupboard. Pouring it into two glasses, he comes back over, holding them both. "Have a glass." He says, giving one to me. I don't really like alcohol but I accept it anyway, seeing as he is either in a calm mood, or he's a calm drunk. Either way, I sip at the glass, setting down on the floor beside me.

"Why am I here?" I ask, and I know it's a pointless question with a pointless answer, but it slips from my mouth anyway.

"What do you mean?"

"What is my place here?"

Will arches an eyebrow, looking at me with a pondering look on his face. He takes a long, drawn out inhale before sighing, swallowing the rest of his drink. "It wasn't my choice to have you here. I don't particularly want to be married and, by your expression, you don't want to be married either." He pushes his hair back and takes another stuttering inhale. "But my father is my father and he demands we do it the traditional way." He looks a little unfocused when he takes a lock of my hair, curling it around his fingers. He brushes his fingertips across the bottom of my jaw, cupping my face. "At least you're pretty unlike all the others, even more so than that Lovelace girl."

"You're really drunk right now." I point out, putting my hand over his. "You're not going to remember any of this when you wake up tomorrow."

"Maybe not. Does it really matter?" He says, drawing away. He pours me another glass and I empty it in one gulp. I've always had a low alcohol tolerance and I can feel the buzz in my thoughts already fuzz my vision a little bit. I look over at him and he's standing by the window, just staring out into the distance. Rising to my feet, I feel a little dizzy, but I blame it on exhaustion.

"I'm going to sleep." I say, bracing myself against the wall. Walking towards me, he puts one hand on my waist as if to help me stay steady, but he keeps me up against the wall.

"Are you?" He inquires, leaning forward and brushing his mouth teasingly against mine. I arch forward but he retreats back, pressing one finger to my lips. "You were going to sleep, weren't you? I would hate to keep you here against your will."

I almost pull away from him and go to my room but the larger, more insensible part of my mind is telling me to stay. I let out a peal of laughter before I can stop it and I wish I hadn't accepted the drink. "I'll stay." I say and my words come out a little wavering but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Really?" He says skeptically. I almost think he's going to laugh in my face and walk away. Instead, he leans forward, tangling his mouth with mine.

He tastes hot and like wine, his free hand pinning me to the wall. When I look into his eyes, they're dark and bitter and they seem to stare through me. Letting my eyelids close, I bring my hand behind his head, running my fingers encouragingly through his hair and murmuring against his mouth. I'm hoping that some little part of me can be filled in if I pull him tight enough against me, wishing that in some way, I could give him reason.

And kindness.

And humility.

And love.

But he still just tastes like alcohol and is dizzying and empty. Lowering me to the floor, he pulls me against him, wrapping my legs around his hips. Flattening his hands on my back, I groan against his mouth when he kisses me, hard, until it hurts and I want to pull away but I can't. Sensing my hesitation, he gentles, breaking away and leaning his forehead against mine. I'm breathing hard, my back against the wall and my arms curved around his neck. Through the darkness, I can only see gleams of blue and black, staring at me as he draws me down again.


	26. Chapter 26

I roll onto my side, my fingers winding in the sheets on the bed. Sighing softly, I try to ignore the small sounds of rustling papers and force myself back to sleep. However, the sheets are pulled from my body and I instantly sit up with wide eyes.

"Will!" I say, surprised. I have a pounding headache but my mind is sharpened in surprise. "What are you doing in my room?"

"No," Will drawls, holding the sheets in one hand. "What are you doing still in _my _room?"

"Your room?" I mumble, rubbing my eyes. Looking around, a hitch of a gasp catches in my throat when I see that I'm in his room, in his bed, with a hangover. He notices me staring at him in shock and his mouth instantly curls into a smirk.

"There was no funny business happening or that happened," he says, tossing the sheets at the end of the bed, "I assure you." When he speaks, I look down at my knees, rubbing my head and trying to soothe my headache. He arches an eyebrow before sighing. "You do have an astoundingly low tolerance for alcohol." He pulls me up by my hand but I yank it away from him, glaring and buttoning the front of my nightgown. "I tell you, we didn't do anything and I mean it. You just passed out here."

I scowl again, brushing my tangled hair from my face. "Why am I in _here_, though?"

He grins coldly, the warmth from the night before faded like morning fog. "Your request."

"I did not-"

"Funny thing, alcohol is, isn't it?" He sets his hand at my waist, pulling me to him and brushing his mouth lightly up against my forehead. I try to draw back but he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. "It's not my fault if you have a headache today. Your lack of tolerance is ridiculous." Letting go of my chin, I rub my jaw and hunch my shoulders.

He takes a pen from behind his ear and spins it between his fingers before setting the end at the edge of his mouth and looking at the papers on his desk. He immediately frowns, an agitated look on his face when he sits down. He waves me off. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to work alone." Turning around, he flips through a packet of papers, switching on a little projection and pulling up a string of messages from his father. I strain to see what they say and I can catch the words 'contagious' and 'hospital' but he stands up and grabs me sharply by wrist and marches me to the door. "That was your cue to leave." He narrows his eyes, opening the door and pushing me through.

"Wait, Will-" I hardly have any time to protest before he slams the door in my face, leaving me in the hallway alone. Cringing as a throb goes through my head, I move tiredly down the hallway. At first, I don't hear the door open and Will step out into the hallway, but when I do, I don't acknowledge him. He calls after me once but I ignore him, pretending not to have heard him saying my name as I round the corner towards my room.

Blindly, I head down the quiet, white hallway, almost running into Emma. She lets out a coo of surprise and moves out of my way. I glance back at her. "Forgive me."

"Miss Gray," She says, seeing as I am still in my nightgown, "would you like some assistance with dressing?"

I smile half heartedly. "That would be lovely."

She follows me to my room and I don't move as her thin hands neatly undo the buttons of my nightgown and fold it into a neat bundle. Pulling out a deep blue corset, she puts it around my chest and torso, tightening the laces. She's taller than I remember, I note, and her eyes are darker, her face a little more angular, and her hair almost reaches her waist, now. It's a pity she had to get marked as a Disloyal this young.

I hate the way corsets feel as they constrict my body and are tightened, making me feel confined in a space that hardly leaves room for breathing. Damn the fashion industry. Emma notices my discomfort and stops lacing me up. "Are you alright, Miss?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry." I manage to say without my voice wavering. She reminds me so much of Sophie when we both lived at the Owner's house and I can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. I close my eyes when she draws the skirt up around my waist, her hands light and quick to clasp them together. "Miss Bayliss...Emma, you haven't by any chance seen Jem here, have you?"

She steps back, a confused look on her face. "Jem..?"

"A little taller than Will, he's new here and-" I break off before I say, _he's a Disloyal like you_. Emma nods.

"I think I know who you are talking about. I've checked up on him a few times and the serum is only just starting to show signs of setting in though it's happening later than most." Tying her hair back, Emma clutches her hands in front of her, her expression shy. "I could send him your regards if you'd like-"

"No." I say, a little too sharply. "I want to see him."

"Miss Gray, I can't let you-"

"Emma, please."

She sighs, furrowing her eyebrows. "I...I was given orders to discourage you from seeing him. He is still...delicate."

"Delicate? _Delicate_?" I give her a confused shake of my head. "He's not delicate."

"Miss Gray-"

"Please. Take me to him." I order and I almost regret it because she's too quiet, too complying to say no even though her eyes are pained. With a forced smile and jerky move of her body, she walks towards the door, opening it for me.

"Of course. Follow me." She murmurs, her voice hardly louder than a thread of lace. Moving silently down the hall, she is clipped and reluctant in her gait, a worried look on her face. "Please, don't tell Master Herondale that I let you-" She starts to say but she immediately shuts her mouth. "Pardon my request. It isn't right of me to ask for you to cover for me." Taking me up a set of spiral staircases, I step warily into a hallway that I've never been in before. Pointing at the door at the end, she bites her lip nervously. "He's in there."

"Do you have the key?" I inquire, smoothing the front of my skirt subconsciously.

"Oh, it's unlocked." Emma explains, migrating over towards the wall and crossing her arms uncomfortably in front of her chest. "You can go in."

"Thank you." I say, moving forward. I swallow spit and I expect the worst and hope for the best. I hope that he is not injured or cut but I cannot be sure. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I place my hand on the doorknob, twisting it open. To my surprise, Jem is just standing with his back to the door, his figure outlined by a window. He's still, his hands braced against the wall by the window. For a moment, I don't think he knows I'm in the room, but he twitches when I shut the door with a click. "James? The door is unlocked, you know."

He doesn't answer.

He just stands there.

I say his name again and he doesn't turn to look at me, but his hand slowly rises to where he got his injection and he presses his fingers to it. A shuddering sigh goes through the room and he turns his head sideways so I can only see his profile. "You shouldn't be here." He whispers, his voice soft but clear as water.

"Jem, don't be silly." I say, taking another step forward.

"Why are you here?"

I let out a choked hitch of false laughter. "I saved you from being Convicted."

"No." He hisses, his voice unusually cruel. His hand tightens over the injection site. "You just endangered yourself just like you are now."

"Endangering myself?" I say incredulously, a hint of puzzlement in my voice. "I'm fine. The Protectors have stopped looking over the house and it's not like I'm in any danger with Will."

"Not Will." He whispers, turning back towards the window. "Me."

Him?

Endangering myself by being in his presence?

I move over to him quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off, wrapping his arms around himself. I recoil, hurt. "Jem, what is it?"

"Leave me alone, Tessa." Jem orders, turning his head away from me. I'm confused and I'm worried and I don't know what is driving him to be so distant, so cold.

"I don't understand why you're acting like this. It's like you _like _being here."

He just stays silent but he digs his nails into his palms like he's in pain. Normally, I can feel what is wrong but I can't see anything past his blank expression. To be left in the dark is a fearful thing and I look at Jem, the affectionate comforter.

The endless worrier.

The secret musician.

The wild imaginer.

And, for the first time in seven years, I don't recognize who he is anymore. When I look closely at him and the light reflecting off his dark eyes, I can't see my Jem.


	27. Chapter 27

I wish I am a little more gentle when I force him to look at me but it's almost as if he doesn't know me.

He's just staring at me.

His eyes are blank.

His expression is distant.

There's a moment, however, when he twitches and a look of realization spreads across his face. He blinks as if he's surprised at my presence and looks down at me. I pull him into an awkward embrace, burying my head into his shoulder. "God, James, you scared me." I whisper, hugging my arms tighter around his neck. He draws away gently, a hesitant fog in his eyes. Raising his hand, he trails his fingers lightly across my cheek like he cannot believe I am there but he takes a step back, shaking his head slowly.

"You can't be here. You're not allowed in here." He says shakily, and only then do I hear the fear in his voice. "William Herondale said so. Emma Bayliss said so. Emma, she said...she said...she-" Covering the bottom half of his face with his hand, he breaks off his sentence, sinking to his knees. "Tessa..."

"Oh, James. Whatever has happened to you?" I ask softly, moving by his side and sitting. We just stay there for a long time, our backs pressed up against the wall and neither of us wanting to break the silence. Finally, the quiet becomes too much and I look over at him and my eyes settle on the pin prick on his neck. "Does it still hurt?" I inquire, facing him. "The injection spot, I mean."

"No. Not really." Jem says quietly and the words sound like they are being dragged from him. Raking a hand through his dark hair, it covers the scar and I look away. He glances back through the window next to us and there's the girl I saw at the Marking stage with the black hair and I can see her carrying a bag. This time, she doesn't struggle and she just walks smoothly, a bright, red cloth visible around her mouth and hair. "I'm going to become just like them, Theresa. I can feel it." He takes my hand and presses it to his chest over his heart. It's slow and languid, stuttering every now and then. "In here. I don't feel the same. I'm...I'm...You really should be going. It's not safe for you here."

"I'm fine." I say adamantly. He doesn't argue. He knows I'm stubborn. Instead, I just pull my knees to my chest, the bottom of my corset making it difficult to move. "I...I was in town when the riot happened. It was," I pause, my voice wavering, "a lot more violent than I thought. I didn't know it would be that way."

"I know you were there." Jem says simply, pressing his eyes closed and leaning his head back up against the wall. "I saw you."

"You did? Where?"

He pauses, his eyes glittering in guilt. "At the train station closest to the Lightwood mansion."

I draw in a startled and press my hand to my mouth. "You were the one-"

"We took hostages, Tessa. I saw you and William and I couldn't bring myself to it. I..."

"That was you...James-"

He looks at me and his eyes are crystal clear. "I killed people, Tessa. I murdered Aristocrats without a second thought."

My breath catches in my throat and I choke on my disbelief. "But, you would never-"

"And the worst part about it," His eyes harden and he looks down at the floor, "is that I liked it." Tightening his hands, his fingers twitch as if he yearns for a gun in his hand. There were many times back at the Owners where, whenever he would want his violin, he would fiddle with his fingers and stare contentedly at space. Now, his expression was cold and bitter, his mouth pressed in a thin line. "You don't know how it feels yet to have power just for a moment. I used to tell myself that our society was just the way it was. I used to be satisfied with what I had. I used to like being generous and giving because that was the only life I knew. Now, once you get a taste of having something, having power...That's the reason why you need to leave me alone, Tessa. I'm not, I mean...I am-"

"None of us are the same as we once were." I respond, though I cannot hide all the fragments of horror that cut my voice. I look out the window at the sun and I stifle frightened tears and I don't cry because they will show how frightened I really am. "But we can get through it."

"But this," Jem brushes his hand across the light scars across his cheekbones and the injection site on his neck, "is what the punishment was for my actions. I deserve this, Tessa. Why can't you see that? I _deserve _to become a Convicted because I am not sorry and I have taken lives and I have endangered you and I have helped ignite the Annihilation." He lowers his voice until I can hardly hear it, and I can no longer see the kindness in him. I know that it is still there, but he has so much fear.

So much hate.

Anger.

Loss.

Guilt.

Not meaning to, I move away from him a little, taking a shuddering breath. "Jem, this...This doesn't sound like you-"

"It hurts, can't you see that, Tessa?" His eyes are big and hopeless when he follows my gaze with his. "I have spent my life living for others. I didn't mind being your escort because you used to understand. I can't keep doing this, Tessa. I've tried to push it down but living like this is _painful_." He hugs his knees, pressing his forehead into them. "And maybe I'm being selfish, but it's better this way, don't you think." He smiles, but it doesn't have any joy in it. "The serum helps with pain, Tessa. It...It muffles it."

"But you'll lose yourself!" I say and I wince when my voice rises to a shout but there's an angry spark in my chest. "Damn it, James. You act as if this whole thing is your fault and you're accepting of this chemical that's going to take away the very thing that makes you, you. You might not care, but I do!"

He raises his eyes only slightly, his fingernails digging into his hands. "Prepare yourself, Tessa. It's becoming dangerous. It going to be a new revolution."

I don't hear him when he says that, though. I'm already out the room, past Emma and running downstairs. Throwing myself onto my bed, I press my face into the pillow, my hands gripping the sides, sobbing as if my heart would break.

It seems like hours pass by and I just lay there, waiting as if time could reverse the serum and everything in this sick world.

"I told you not to go see him." A voice says from the door and I don't have to turn around to see who it is.

"Go away, Will." I say, hugging the pillow tighter.

"When did I ever start obeying your orders?" Will scoffs, his tone gritty and sour. "And when did you stop disobeying mine?" He sighs in agitation. "I need to get back to work. Keep yourself out of trouble." And he shuts the door with a soft click.

_It is dangerous to discover._

Maybe Will was right.


	28. Chapter 28

"Magnificent!" Camille exclaims in a thick French accent, clipping the gold veil into my hair.

Opening my eyes, I blink. "Do you think so?"

"Of course, mademoiselle. It is gorgeous." She purses her lips, her eyes crinkling happily in the corners.

I stare at my reflection and I fight back the urge to rip everything out of my hair and tear the dress from my body. Its a wonder how something so beautiful could feel so ugly at the same time. White, the color of purity, edges my skirt and neckline while gold, the Herondale color, laces the tulle and beading on it. With gritted teeth and shuddering breaths, I manage to smile and it looks so fake and forced that I almost laugh that Camille doesn't see through it.

Then again, I've become a very good liar.

"It's beautiful." I say simply, my voice cracking at the end. I don't think she notices, though, because she smiles again. There's a lovely elegance about her that seems to radiate from her waving hair and green eyes and when she lays a hand on my shoulder and assures me how lovely the outfit is, I almost believe her.

I don't realize that it's late until she draws the bracelet gently from my wrists, setting them gingerly in a box. "I'll have these stored for you in your drawers so they will be easily accessible for when you do get married. You are very lucky, Miss Gray. Very lucky indeed." Camille unclips the veil, gently folding it and wrapping it in tissue paper. Though there is a bitterness beneath her beauty, she acts very motherly at points. I always forget that she was demoted to a seamstress after she was found having an affair with a Protector. I can't help but feel sorry for her that she lost everything; her name, her loved one, and her child. I think I have spoken out loud when she turns to me with sad eyes and I feel a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry...Sometimes my mouth-"

"It's quite alright. I was young and foolish and a _very_ popular Aristocrat woman." Camille says, sighing her words. "Oh, well. The past is the past and we can't do anything to change it, can we?" She asks, though her questions never really sound like questions. "Come on, mademoiselle. We can't let your fiancé see you in your dress. It's bad luck." Moving behind me, she unlaces the bodies of my heavy gown and I breath out a relieved snatch of air. There is a rap at the door and she gathers the dress in her arms, quickly and carefully placing it in my closet and shutting it closed. Opening the door to my room, she grabs her bags and does a small bow of her head at Will. "I was just leaving. The fitting is done."

"Very well. I wanted to speak to you for a moment." Will says, gesturing his head out to the hallway. Camille does a nod, following him and clicking the door shut behind her.

When I can no longer hear their voices, I tear the pins from my hair, throwing them angrily at the window, but they just make a small 'tink' as they hit it, falling to the floor. Making my way to the bathroom, I rub the makeup off my face, black smears on my eyes.

Ugly.

Mistaken.

Wrong.

It's all _wrong_; the makeup, the dress, the way Will acts, Jem, the way I feel inside towards both of them. Every single god forsaken thing in this damned world is wrong. I don't notice the burn of the hot water when I turn on the shower, stripping myself of my undergarments and stepping in the water. In fact, I welcome the pain. It's muffled now, as if the bruises and the crescent shaped marks constantly marring my wrists have made me immune to the physical pain. I don't notice the tears streaming down my face, either, a small reflection of how I really feel. How much suffering, pain, and hurt can the heart take before it is broken?

Shattered.

Swept away.

Unfeeling.

Washing the soap from my eyes, I ignore that they are stinging and watery. After turning the shower off, I wring my hair out and dry off with a thin towel. My nightgown, which I set on the counter, is hard to get on over my slick skin, but when I do, I just fall on my bed, pulling the covers over my body. Reaching out, I grab my book from my nightstand and I open it to the first page, but my mind is too full of thoughts for me to concentrate.

I think about the wedding and Camille, but mostly, I think about Jem. _He's gone, isn't he_? I wonder to myself, and I can't fight back the tears. I can only faintly hear Will say my name and pry my hands away from my face. Staring at him, I let out an angry cry. "What did you do to him?"

He blinks at me, surprised. "What-"

"What did you do to Jem?" I say savagely, my tone sharp and hateful.

Will catches me by my wrists, holding them to my chest. "I didn't do anything to him."

"What did you do to him? What did you do to him? What did you do-" My voice cracks and I can't control the violent shaking sobs that rack through me. I am surprised when Will holds me to him, my face buried in the crook of his neck. His hands are curved at my back, small puffs of exhaled breath against my temple, rustling my hair. "What happened to him?" I whisper, a spot at his white button up dampening with tears.

"There is no cure for the serum." Will says plainly, his voice softening the cruel edges of bitterness that normally lace his tone. "_I _did not do anything to him."

"You agreed for them to be Convicted." I say, my words sharp with anger. "It's all your fault."

"Tessa-"

"You're always rude and malicious and then gentle. You act like you don't care about anything, but your actions bely your words...Like when Cecily..." I murmur, and I feel him stiffen beside me as if I've struck a nerve and, maybe I have. "It's confusing and I don't know what to do because this whole world is stuttering and threatening to push us off into the sky where we can't get a grip on anything." I raise my head, looking up at him with exhaustion evident in my eyes. "You love all the same things I do and, yet, we are different. Too different."

Will opens his eyes; they are dark and sorrowful, hiding something behind the fog of blue and violet. "In what way?"

"For starters," I pull away a little bit, "you're cruel and are always hurting the people who want to help you."

"I don't mean to. Not always." He says and I have to hide the surprise spreading across his face. I don't question him what has sparked this sudden comment, and I expect a mood change, but it doesn't come. At least not tonight.

He leans forward and lightly ghosts his mouth against mine. I expect him to he harsh and demanding, but he is gentle, his hands moving to cup my face. I almost want to lose myself to the closeness of heat and the tediously slow brush of kisses that leave me arching forward to press my mouth to his. However, I turn my head, and I hold a hand up, pressing my hand against his chest. "Not now. Please."

"Then," he breaths, his eyes glittering in the dim lighting, "what do you want me to do?"

"Just promise me you won't change from this." I say, but I know that I'm making an empty wish. "I can see bits and pieces of the real you every now and then and, I just want to see you like this. Just like you are now."

Will gives me a measured stare. "How do you know that I'm not acting right now?"

I shake my head. "I don't, but I hope with all my heart that you aren't, because I have hope for you," I lower my hand to over his heart, "William Herondale."

"I should leave you to retire." His breathing quiets, his fingers twining in my hair. Pressing his mouth to my forehead, he moves to leave. "Goodnight, Miss Gray."

Taking his hand before he leaves, I hold him back, my eyes pressed closed. "Wait."

He glances down at me, sitting on the edge of my bed and running his fingers alongside the bottom of my jaw and down the neckline of my dress. "What is it?" He asks, a hint of frustration in his voice.

My voice, raw from crying, is soft and whispery when I look up at him and speak. "Can you stay? Just for a little bit?"

He hesitates for a moment before answering. "Fine, but only for a little bit."

Sitting beside me, his hand rests on my shoulder, stroking softly at my damp hair. I close my eyes, my eyes feeling as if they are weighed down. I just focus on his touch and his presence, thinking of it as a small comfort, even if it is temporary, because it might be the only time I see the softer side, the gentler side of him. But, deep down, I hope it won't be.


	29. Chapter 29

I'm surprised when I wake and Will is still sitting beside me. His eyes are open and staring and he's so still that he almost looks dead. But then I see him look over slowly at me and close his eyes partway.

"You're awake." He says flatly and I can see the warmth from the night before slipping away through my fingers though my hands are clutching his. "You were having nightmares."

Sitting up, I blink sleep away. "I don't remember them."

Pulling his hand away from mine, I instantly gets colder when the freezing air hits my exposed skin. I grab the blankets, wrapping them around me and shivering. I think he opened the window because the air is crisp and smells like pine. My thoughts are confirmed when he reaches above me, sliding the glass closed and instantly, the room gets warmer. "Come one, Tessa. I want to go to the city hospital today." He remarks, his eyes dark with exhaustion. I can tell that he hasn't slept well the past few nights ever since he got that message at the dinner.

"Hospital?" I echo, standing up and letting the blankets slide off. His eyes flit over me before he turns away, frowning.

"Get yourself ready." He orders, exiting the room. He glances at me, a glitter in his eyes that makes me flush a little against my will. He plays me as easily as he plays a puppet, and he knows it. Everything is instinctive, now and everything is the same.

Calling Emma to help clothe me.

Going to the restroom to apply makeup.

Curling my hair.

Joining Will in the main room.

Except there is one thing wrong.

Will is silent as he takes my wrist; he is never this gentle. He is silent as we walk to the train; we use the train for everything. He is silent when we sit down in our cabin car; he always has something to complain about. We're so close that I can feel my shoulder brush his just barely and I reach out and take his hand. He is quick to draw away from me, leaning his head against the window. With a frustrated sigh, he pushes my reaching hand away. "Miss Gray. I'm not in the fondest of moods so, if you would like to keep that hand of yours, I suggest you keep it to yourself."

"Very amusing." I say dryly, frowning. "With what would you cut it off? Your tongue is sharp enough."

"Ah, but, alas, I can't slice hands off with it, can I?" Will comments, licking his bottom lip. "Today, at the hospital, keep quiet and don't ask questions."

"What are we going to be there for?" I ask instinctively before biting my tongue so I don't say anything else.

"The discussion of life support." Will says casually, though there is an underlying cloud of grief in his voice. "My mother has been sick for a while; this trip was bound to happen sometimes. Oh well, life comes and goes fleetingly."

"You care for her." I point out, my tone gentle though he hisses in anger.

"So? It's called family obligation." He snaps and looks away from me. "I really don't give a shit about anything revolving around the whole thing. They tried surgery, it didn't work. Might as well just let her die now than make her live any longer." He raises his eyes, the blue cold and icy. "It's easier to just let them die rather than be burdened by their very existence." Pulling his ring off, he spins it on his hand, watching it. "Ella. Cecily. My mother."

"What's wrong with you?" I ask suddenly, my voice an octave higher than I wanted it to be. "You act as if everyone's lives are yours to take and you act like you don't care about your family even though I know you do."

His eyes narrow. "I _did _care."

"Where did that person from last night go? I thought you were better than this." I say softly, pulling my knees to my chest. I look at my hands, straightening them and then clasping them together. "Every time that I think I'm getting close, you slam the door back shut. You constantly go between being kind to being an absolute monster. I've tried to hate you, I really have...But I can't when I see the good and I care-"

Will's standing up faster than I can blink, his arms on either side of me so I can't move. He leans in, his fingers pressing into my arm with bruising force. Tilting his head to the side, he gives me a measured look, his eyes shadowed. "I'm a very good actor, Tessa. You don't know me. You don't know me at all. You're constantly in other people's business and making blind assumptions when, in actuality, you have no idea what you're dealing with. I don't care about you, Theresa. I never have and, if you don't want to get hurt, I suggest you take those feelings of yours and hide them because they don't mean a _thing_. Why are you so obsessed with all this 'giving a damn' crap?"

"This isn't _your _world." I say, trying to struggled from his grip. "You play everyone as if they all serve you and then you blame it on all this 'corrupt mentality' that you get from your father." My voice lowers and it turns into a plead, but I don't care. "I just want to help you. Can't you see that?"

"Better just see to yourself that you don't step out of line." He growls, his eyes turning to slits. "This," he releases my arms, drawing away, "is what happens when people care. They speak out and corrupt the system because they are not the same. _They do not fit in_. I've just decided to free myself of that liability and take charge instead."

I give him a look of incredulousness, shaking my head slowly. "So you've decided to run away. Instead of doing what is right, you have turned your back. That is not very noble; not like all the characters in books that you cherish so much."

He raises an eyebrow, and then laughs. "Comparing me to a book character? Wake up, Tessa. This is the real world, not some written out plot that ends up with a happily ever after, or with the villain dying, or with them being okay."

"You're cruel-"

"You should have thought about that before you tried cozying up to me."

I let out a startled breath. "Cozying up to you? I did no such-"

"Good lord. Not only are you daft, but you have short term memory loss as well." He announces, throwing one leg elegantly over the other and leaning back in his seat. "'Oh, William. Stay with me!'. 'I have hope for you'. If that wasn't cozying up, I don't know what was."

My cheeks heat with embarrassment as I flush. "I wasn't remotely like that."

"You were _exactly _like that."

"Why did you stay, then?"

Shrugging, he smirks. "Pity, I guess."

"I like you better when you're drunk."

He smirks again. "You've never seen me drunk."

I give him a pointed look, my lips pursed. "That one night when you gave me that glass of wine or...whatever it was. You were obviously inebriated even though you say you have a very high alcohol tolerance. You were drunk that one night."

"As I said before," Will murmurs, moving so close to me so I can see each individual fleck in his eyes, "I am a very good actor."


	30. Chapter 30

My hands are rested on the pane of glass that shows the tinted rooms of ICU patients.

Separated by curtains, I can only catch glimpses of bloodied bandages and small machines that are hooked up to limp bodies, beeping and pulses hardly audible behind the thick windows. A dark skinned nurse with a mask covering her mouth makes her way through each of the makeshift cubicles, a small projection hovering beside her wherever she goes. I can only see small jagged lines of heartbeats and numbers on the translucent lights, but I strain my neck to try to see it anyway.

Glancing over at me, the nurse makes her way over to the other side of the glass. She looks very pretty, but tired as if working has drawn out her features and washed them out like an old photograph. When she comes up close, I can see her nametag: Catarina Loss. It's a very pretty name; it suits her. Pulling the curtain shut over the window, she tucks her bleached white hair tiredly back into her nurses cap before fastening the curtains together with a string. Though I try to squint between the closed curtains, I can no longer see the patients, so I turn around to sit back down in the chair.

Coming from out of the room, Catarina looks at me, beckoning me over. Standing back up, I make my way over to her, subconsciously fiddling with my fingers. "Is Mister Herondale going to be out soon?" I ask, trying to keep formalities.

Shutting down the projection at her shoulder, she purses her lips, handing me a paper. "Go take this to the main desk. He's got more paperwork to submit and doesn't want to keep you waiting here. Just go down the hall and you'll see the lift once you turn right-"

"Wait. Isn't he supposed to be done by now?" I inquire, frowning. She looks slightly surprised that I, a Commoner, interrupted her. There are few people who have made it between the Commoner and Aristocrat status, but they don't have a name. Catarina, I suspect, is one of them.

"Miss...Gray, was it?" She says, though she doesn't give me enough time to confirm her. "I'm just doing as he told me, so I suggest you adhere to his wishes. Lord knows that them Aristocrats are strict with the rules."

"But-" I open my mouth to protest, but sigh, taking the paper from her. "Yes. You're right. Where do I go, again?"

"The main office. It's downstairs in the lobby." Catarina points down the hall. "You're going to want to go down there and turn right."

I smile slightly, glancing away from the papers to look at her. "Thank you."

"It's my job. Now you get a move on before they see you hangin' about with the sick'uns. It's nasty business in the hospital, lately. A fine girl like yourself shouldn't take no mind to it." She advises before turning around and slipping back into the ICU patient room. With a sigh, I step down the hallway, ignoring the buzz of curiosity that rings through my mind.

When I enter the lift, I look to my left, seeing a boy about my height and younger than Will or Jem. I don't recognize him at first with his ginger hair smoothed back, glasses perched on his nose, and a pair of white gloves slipped on his hands, but, when I look closer, I see that it is the same boy who was at the manor when Magnus Bane came over. Charles Fairchild, I remember, son of Henry Branwell and Charlotte Fairchild. I've always admired Charlotte's strength, though, because of that, their family is not as respected as most. I've heard rumors that Henry Branwell was forced to create the serum, but I can't be sure, not when almost all Aristocrats are selfish and demeaning.

When the lift finally does come to a stop and we get out, he heads off into a lab, just off the side of the main office. Handing the woman at the main desk the paper, she calls out the same Convicted girl that looks so familiar...But I can't seem to pin down why. The girl listens for a moment to what the woman is saying before walking off and beckoning me to go with her.

It's not safe for a Commoner girl to go by herself on the trains, I've been told. Men mistake us for prostitutes and often kidnap unsuspecting victims or leave the women to their own devices when they have children. That's what happened to Camille, so I've been told.

The girl doesn't say anything when she leads me to the train car, opening the door robotically and stepping inside, standing as straight as a street sign in the corner with her head bowed down. She's strange and unnerving and inhuman; she's what Jem is going to become someday and that thought makes me feel sick. I stare at her, a little rudely I suppose, but I don't think she minds. I don't think she _can _mind.

If you lose everything that makes you human, are you really you at all?

"I saw you at the Convicting stage." I tell her absentmindedly, though I know she can't process what I'm saying. "You look like someone I know, but I'm not sure who. My...my friend got the serum as well. He isn't changed, though...Not yet." I look down at my gloved hands, catching silent tears that I didn't know were slipping down my face. She stays silent, but her eyes glimmer for a second. I'm probably imagining, though.

And the train comes to a stop.

**~~ooo~~**

When I finally do muster up the courage to go see Jem again, he doesn't remember talking to me. Not really; a foggy glass, he compares our conversation. He only recollects me coming into the room and getting angry and leaving.

There are small bloody dots on the floor near the windowsill, but he refuses to tell me where they came from. He stares at me, the brown in his iris's almost amber when the sunlight hits them. "Do I scare you?" He queries softly, not breaking eye contact.

"I'm scared for you." I answer, moving my hand over his and squeezing it comfortingly like everything's going to be alright. But it's not going to be. "I could never to bring myself to be scared of you, though. Even after..." I trail off my sentence, biting my lip and looking away. _Murderer. Mental. Convicted, _the voices say when I think about him, but I shake those thoughts away. Turning to him, I take both his hands and he looks at me in mute surprise. "James, whatever you do, you ought to know that I could never hate you. Ever."

Jem smiles slightly; I've always thought that his smile was reassuring. "Don't be concerned about me; better look out for your own welfare."

I smile back at him. He's acting more like his normal self but, the more he acts regularly, the more it confuses me as to why he was so dark.

Sinister.

Bitter.

Demented.

"You've always been more than an escort. You know that, right?"

"I've always hoped for that." He says. "That I am not just a pawn in a chessboard."

When I hear Emma walk past the door, I remember that it's not right of me to be with a boy alone, that it is improper and unrespectable, but it is just Jem. It's _just _Jem and I trust him because he's the only true friend I've ever had. However, I stand up to leave so Will doesn't see me in here again when he arrives back. I catch sight of a gun beneath his bed, but I ignore it and watch as he rises to his feet, his expression calm. He's always been so calm, so collected, even in times of peril. It's a good thing, I suppose, though I don't know if his indifference and slower reactions are a side effect of the serum.

"I should go." I say quietly, my hand rested where the bodice of my dress hugs uncomfortably tight. "Before Will gets back."

"Of course." Jem answers warmly, though he is suddenly looking at me with guarded eyes. "I hope to see you soon."

"You will." I say adamantly, walking towards the door and stepping outside. "I'll make sure of it."

And I shut the door without another word.

Saying anything else would have felt like a goodbye.

But someday, I'll have to.


	31. Chapter 31

Will doesn't come back until late and, when he does, his eyes are so cold, so empty, and I truly wonder if he has a soul or not.

I find him in the library with a book, sitting down in one of the chairs with his head reclined and his hand holding the book above him. I have the sudden urge to rip the book from his hand and smack him upside the head, but I refrain because, as he would say, 'I would ruin his pretty, pretty face.'

Pretty face, my ass.

I don't know how long I stand in the doorway pondering over unladylike thoughts, but he notices me and calls me over, his voice brisk. Though I know that he'll be angrily, I don't listen to him. I just spin on my heel and walk away, feeling impossibly small against the white of the manor. My steps are measured and slow, echoing down the hall as I make my way to my room.

I'm not surprised when he catches me by the wrist, holding me back gently before I have time to close my bedroom door. He turns me around so I'm facing him, his face too close to mine for my liking. "Tessa." He says quietly, looking down at me. "Why did you walk away?"

"Let me go, Will." I hiss between my teeth and I feel triumphant when he draws back a little in shock.

"Tessa, what are-"

"Please, please, please just let me _go_." My teeth are chattering and there are hot tears pressing at the backs of my eyes but I keep them pent up.

Will flinches in confusion and surprise. "I don't understand why-"

"You don't understand? Of course you don't understand!" I say, my vision blurring as I speak. "I can't live like this anymore, Will. I can't live with the uncertainty and the lies and the tricks. I can't live not knowing who you are." Tearing from him, I look away, my body shaking in anger. "I'm sick of every single thing with you. _Sick of it._ I never know who you are or who you're going to be. You're constantly changing, and then softening, and then getting angry, and then acting as if every single thing you do _to me_ is all a joke, and it's funny. Don't you get it?"

"Tess, Tessa, Tess, Tessa." He repeats my name over and over, his voice awfully low and coy. Snaking a hand around my waist, he leans close, his lips brushing against my ear. "You're becoming just like all the other poor, little girls who I had before you."

"Maybe I am just like them." I whisper, quivering. "Maybe I'm not the only one who saw straight through you."

"Oh, see. That's the one thing that separates you from them." Will turns me around so I'm facing him, pressing the backs of my legs to the end of the bed. "You're intelligent." I lift my chin to try to look away but he ghosts his mouth against the bottom of my jaw, his hand tightening on my waist and bunching up my nightgown in his grasp. "Such a pity. I was in a good mood as well."

"Will, just leave me alone." I plead softly, trying to push him away.

He doesn't budge, his eyes boring holes into mine. Lowering his stare, his gaze focuses on my mouth, his expression guarded and mutely desperate. "What do you want from me, Tessa?" Will asks, his eyes impossibly blue and violet.

"I just want you to be kind and honest and noble-" my voice hardens, "-but you don't know how to be any of those things."

He draws a finger down my jaw, swiping his thumb over my bottom lip. "Teach me, then."

I almost believe him that he will change. I want to believe him. But I don't and I struggle to get out of his grip. Surprisingly, he lets go, but throws a smirk in my direction, seating himself in a chair near my bed. When I think he isn't looking, I stare at him as I take my book from the desk, setting it on my pillow. His head is lowered just slightly, his arm thrown decadently over the arm of the chair and a ghost of a smile still on his mouth. Raising his head, his eyelashes that cover the blue iris's flutter open teasingly and effortlessly, casting dark, thin shadows across his cheekbones.

He's watching me; seeing how I react and I know that he's playing with me, but I get entranced all the same.

When he meets my eyes, I look away and I draw in a sharp gasp. I can't sleep, not with him in the room looking at me like I'm some fly that's all too willingly caught in his trance of a web. Sitting down on my bed, I merely bring the blankets around me, taking my book and setting it in my lap. With every minute that passes, I can feel the intensity of his stare grow until I can't focus on the words on the page, my heart stuttering. I can feel the grin in his gaze, staring at me with utter raw amusement. To see if he'll go away, I turn off the lamp, pulling the covers over my body and lay on my side where my back is to him.

"Is this how it's always going to be?" I ask quietly when I feel him sit beside me, laying me flat on my back. "You pretending to be all nice and kind, but becoming that horrible monster of yourself again in the morning?"

He laughs breathily, half reclining against the covers on his elbows. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes. It does to me." I say, holding my arms around me as if that could shield me from him. "Why are you in here anyway?"

"I'm bored." He replies simply, sitting up on his side and toying with the bottom of my gown. When I shrink away from him, his expression softens, one hand moving to rest on the flat of my stomach. "Tessa. You know that I wouldn't hurt you, now, would I?"

"I don't know that." I answer, pushing his hand off and resting mine on the pillow next to my head. "You expect me to believe that, after the broken glass, the shameless slaps, the constant bruises, you wouldn't hurt me?"

Leaning over me, he laces his fingers with mine, pressing them back into the pillow and slanting his mouth down on mine. He's kissing me slow, too slow, but he's being so gentle and delicate that I don't pull away. His fingers tighten around my side and I tense up involuntarily, my eyes fluttering to look at him. The blue of his eyes are hardly visible as he stares down at me, clouded with an odd look of protectiveness and affection. I dismiss it as a trick of light.

He pulls me towards him so we are both on our sides, facing each other with one hand clasped together. "Now do you believe me?" Will queries, running the tip of his finger across my temple and down to my throat.

I close my eyes, looking away from him. "No. I don't think there will be a day that goes by that I will ever be able to fully believe you."

"You have to at least give me a chance."

I almost agree with him, but I remember this sick game.

Hate.

Love.

Betrayal.

Covering my eyes, I shake my head. "You lost your chance."

"At least trust me, then." Will says, his voice almost a plead. "Just trust me this once."

Giving him the coldest look I can muster, I pull my hand from his and dig my nails into my palms. "I _did _trust you."


	32. Chapter 32

"The imports came. After the riots in Chiswick, the Protectors were left with limited supplies. However, now, since you supplied them with more artillery, they will be advancing to the more inner parts of the city to protect the citizens more efficiently." An older Aristocrat says, his voice gruff and face weathered as if he stayed out in the sun for too long. "Because of the Herondale's _temporary _control over the eastern Protectors, you will be able to decide their movements. Owen, do you agree?"

I press my eye against the crack in the door, trying to see what the group of people in the projection room are saying. On the table, I can hardly make out a paper that has an order sheet on it with the title of Ordering an Buying. I draw in a sharp breath, realizing that, when Will and I went to the building where I met that Lightwood girl, he was ordering supplies for the Protectors. I squint harder, but he's not in the room, not that I can see. Pushing the door open just a sliver more so I can hear better, I listen to their monotonous conversation about protecting the citizens.

Yelping when my wrists are pulled behind me and my chest is pressed against the wall, hot puffs of air on the back of my neck. "It's bad form to eavesdrop." A voice whispers, pinching my wrists together like handcuffs. "Always and forever too curious. When are you going to learn that your urge to _discover _is going to get you in trouble; more trouble than I can get you out of."

I struggle against him, my chin held painfully against the cold, white walls. "Will. Let me _go_."

"You're forgetting, Miss Theresa Gray, that I am your _highness_, not your dog." Will murmurs mockingly, his mouth brushing my neck.

That nauseas feeling that I had learned to suppress is slowly coming back, deafening my senses and making my stomach churn.

Arrogant pervert.

As a last ditch effort, I kick back with my leg, the heel of my boot connecting painfully satisfyingly with his knee. Releasing my wrists, Will hisses in pain, watching as I walk away hastily down the hall. As I round the corner, I get jerked to a stop, a shriek forced out of my mouth as my hair is wrenched back, knots of brown strands tangled in Will's hand. Instantly, my eyes water as he pulls me to him, his fingertips pressing with a bruising force into the skin at my arm.

"Now, now, Miss Gray." Will clicks his tongue, still holding onto my arm as he fixes my hair, smoothing it over my shoulders with a sinister grin. "You know better than to run away like that."

"Why are you following me?" I ask angrily, balling my hands up into fists and bringing them to my sides.

"Tessa, Tessa..." He takes my hand, spinning me around as if we were dancing, his eyes fastening on mine. "You are a pretty thing, even prettier when your in a particularly feisty mood." Narrowing my eyes, I hiss at his words; he takes one look at my furious expression and he laughs. "You ought to stay with me, Tessa. At least until you tire of my company."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because I said so." Will sniffs, pulling me to an abrupt halt, taking my chin between his fingers and turning my face towards his. "But first, you look a mess. Go clean yourself up."

As if on cue, the projection room opens and Mr. Herondale stands in the doorway, staring hard at Will. "Where have you been? The meeting started half an hour ago."

Like a slate wiped clean of chalk, Will looks over at his father, his expression hardening and misting over like the incessant London fog. "I'll be there, _father_." Will mutters, releasing my chin and pushing his hair back and out of his face. "Stay out of trouble, Tessa." He says, his voice hushed and eyes cold before he turns around and heads towards his father. "What is it now?" Will queries, disappearing into the room.

I'm slightly tempted to listen to what they are speaking about, but I find my restraint and make my way to the library instead. I know that he'll notice if I take a few books, but I don't really care anymore. As I shuffle through the different stories, I pick up _Hard Times_, by Charles Dickens and a snatch of a quote plays in my head.

_He had been for many years, a quiet silent man, associating but little with other men, and used to companionship with his own thoughts. He had never known before the strength of the want in his heart for the frequent recognition of a nod, a look, a word; or the immense amount of relief that had been poured into it by drops through such small means._

And I think of solitude and lonely nights.

Lonely, lonely nights indeed.

There might have been a time where I had taken enjoyment in reading such a book as that one, but reading it makes me fear that I would only be able to think about my inevitable fate, Will's harshness, and this wretched place.

I set the book back down with distaste and grab _The Dead Secret _and _Sense and Sensibility. _They aren't my most favorite books; I have always loved _Tale of Two Cities _as my first and foremost favorite, then _Armadale _and _The Moonstone _which are tied at a close second, and _Sense and Sensibility_, which is on my favorite list, but still a distant third. Still, I am thankful that not everything I love has been ripped away from me.

My old room.

My old friends.

My peace of mind.

Jem.

I make my way to the library door, casting a wistful glance at the piles of books that are demanding to be read.

_Another day_, I think, clicking the door open.

Walking from the library into the hallway, I nearly run into Emma, almost dropping the books I am holding. "Emma." I say in surprise, my eyes widening in shock. "What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

Emma twists the messy, plain, blue tulle of her Disloyal's dress in her hand, her teeth biting at her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Looking at me with a frightened expression, she lets out a shuddering exhale. "Miss Gray...You ought to come with me." Emma says shakily, releasing the fabric and fiddling with her hands nervously. Teddy, who is behind her with the red cloth wrapped over his mouth like a cruel accusation, carries a small bundle of bloodied towels in his hands to the washroom. "It's terribly urgent, you see." Her voice is as frail as a whisper, mirroring her ghostlike and pale appearance with her straw like hair and powdery complexion, which is dotted with spots of newly spilled blood.

I set the books in her hand onto the table nearest to her with a thump, my angered expression changing to one of concern. "What is it?"

"It's Jem." The girl murmurs, her words edged with fear. "There's something wrong with him."


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note: Sorry. This chappie is pretty short. Oh, and to SilverCarstairs...FURTURE HERONSTAIRS STORY COMING OUT! I'm going to do a one shot sometime...cuz I know you like Heronstairs...and it'll probably suck but...YOLO!**

My heart is wrenched with worry when I make my way to his room.

There, he is just standing.

His face is blank.

I've never seen so much blood.

There is dark red smeared across Jem's hands, dripping onto the floor with light, sticky taps. His skin, which is usually like spotless porcelain, is now stained with blood and white as salt. He's angled away from me as if he can't stand the sight of me seeing him in such a state and my face is no doubt twisted in fear and shock. I almost rush over to him, but I see the small puddles of dark crimson blood on the floor and I wonder how Jem is still conscious and standing after losing so much blood...but there are no wounds, no cuts or injuries that I can see and I just stare.

"James?" I whisper, my voice heavy.

That one word holds an unfathomable amount of questions.

He is silent, the room muffled in a glass box of uneasiness.

I take a step forward.

And then a cough rips savagely through his body and he falls to his knees, his hands pressed flat against the ground and blood spraying in front of him. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand and sits back so he is leaning against the wall. Instantly, I hurry over to him and take his hands, cringing when blood stains my white gloves. But right now, it doesn't really matter and I reach out to brush his hair from his face. However, he pushes my hand away sharply and flinches as if it hurts, and it looks like it does.

"Don't touch me." He says with a pained tone, his voice hoarse and breathing fast. I'm close enough to feel the fever radiating from his body, the pulse at his throat throbbing like a bird's. "Go away, Tessa. Please, leave me alone."

"Jem. What happened? Are you hurt?" I ask, curiosity and worry biting at my nerves like frost. I place my fingertips gently at his cheek to turn his face to me, but I draw back when I feel how warm he is, like a brand of fire. My eyes instantly train upon the blood, scanning the dripping mess until I get to the prick where he had been injected, and I realize that it doesn't look normal at all. From the injection site, there is a pale tracery of gold and silvery lacing of vein-like strands that I have to focus to see clearly. When he looks up at me with parted eyes, I see that they have gold and silvery flecks in them, ringing around the irises. Instantly, I draw in a startled breath and stare at him. "Are you sick? Did you get injured?"

"No. I'm not injured. Not injured at all." Jem says, and his voice is barely a whisper. "_I'm fine_."

"Emma-"

"Is young and worrisome." Jem finishes, turning from me. "She is overreacting."

"Overreacting?" I give him a look of incredulousness. "_You're hurt and you're telling me that she's overreacting?_" The last words come out as a cry but my voice sounds muffled to me like I'm speaking through a glass window. I put my head in my hands, leaning my forehead against his shoulder and shake slightly, gritting my teeth. Raising my head when I hear a click at the door, I look behind me.

Emma moves into the room with a nervous gait and hands me a small towel with a polite recline of her head. Taking it from her, I look at her gratefully before handing it to Jem, forcing it into his hands. He coughs again, pressing the cloth to his mouth and watching as red blossoms in the middle.

It puddles between his fingers and he looks like he's going to pass out from blood loss.

But he still just stares at it.

And then, I don't know what sparks it, but I start to think of Charles Fairchild and his conversation with Mister Herondale about the serum.

_"Sometimes, the body fights the drug, making the drug useless against them. However, though the subject may act somewhat normal, they are prone to having fits and periods where they can't control themselves because the serum is fighting for control. This has induced violence towards others and self affliction, but it has only happened on two test subjects out of over a hundred."_

And it all suddenly falls into place.

Why he's been acting strange.

Why he hasn't changed yet.

Why he is still hints of my Jem.

My heart falters and my mouth opens to let out a ragged breath. "James? Oh my god."

"Tessa..." Jem murmurs with a groan, his fingers tightening on the bloodied cloth.

Despite his frustrated and hopeless expression. I move close to him, wiping off the specks of blood on his neck and staring again at the faint silvery gold lines originating from the dot where the needle went in. At first I think it is my imagination drawing spider webs of silver on his skin, but I can't help but remember that the serum looks almost exactly like the gold tint that tinges his veins. I draw in a sharp snatch of air, my mouth parting in shock. "The serum-"

"Doesn't work." He says and swallows hard. "I realized that a few days ago."

I widen my eyes and I feel something warm in my chest.

Hope.

I am hoping with all my heart that this blood, all this blood, is merely just his body trying to get rid of the serum and I tell myself that Jem has a chance at being normal again. The hope is overwhelming. But there is also fear of what may happen to him, what the serum may do to him now that his body has rejected it. "You're...You're...You're one of the immune..." I say for now, my voice shaky but clear.

"Not immune." Jem whispers, his voice bitter. "Infected."


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note: I'm really sorry if my chappies have just been crap lately. :/ I'm kind of losing motivation to complete them. Oh, well. Here's another. Oh, and check out my new Heronstairs/Jillessa fanfiction called Vividly. :) It would make my day.**

**Love, love,**

**MortalShadowhunter**

"Please, Will. You have to believe me." I say, my fingers curled desperately in his coat lapels. There are sharp notes that ring through me painfully and reverberate through my voice, but I keep talking all the same. "He's immune to it, can't you see? The serum doesn't work. He has a chance. He has a god damned chance."

"You don't understand." Will says coolly, pulling my hands from his suit and holding my wrists in his grasp. "You're being silly and foolish. He doesn't have a chance. You're lucky that I've kept him for you for this long. Most would consider this act of kindness-"

"Kindness?" I say incredulously, my teeth chattering. "When have you ever shown _anyone _kindness?"

He looks a little taken aback, his collectiveness slipping. "I've tried being kind to you, Tessa. Out of everyone of the girl's I've had-"

"I'm just another one of them." I finish and he narrows his eyes.

"That wasn't what I was going to say." Will says, startled, as if _I'm _the monster.

"Then what?" I spit angrily, tired of cooperating. "That I'm your little darling _whore _that was given to you? _I _didn't have a choice in this, you know. I didn't ask to become your bitch. I didn't ask to become this thing that you parade around and dress up and act as if I'm some prized possession of yours."

"You think _this _is what it's all about?" Will asks, his voice soft and angry. "You act like I've never tried to accept you into _my _life. I don't have to treat you as humanely as I do-"

"You don't have to treat me as harshly as you do." I fire back. My breathing hitches and the end of my sentence ends in a plead, slumping and teetering off the edge of hopelessness. "This isn't about me, though. It's about Jem. If you can provide medical help...anything-"

"He's alive because of you," says Will and his eyes darken. "If you weren't here, he wouldn't be alive because I wouldn't have saved him from being Convicted. And if this isn't kindness, I don't know what else is."

"Kindness," I say defeatedly, shaking my head slowly, "isn't bribery, isn't cruel...Kindness is when you do something, and don't expect anything in return...but you give hardly anything, and expect me to reciprocate ten times that amount. I don't know what is wrong with you. I'm trying, you have to see that I am _trying _to endure through this _kindness_, as you call it, and I have seen everyone suffer. _I _have suffered. _Jem _has suffered. And now-" my voice is hardly a whisper, more like a thin line of thread, "-he has a chance to be normal. Can't you see that?"

"Tessa-"

"And I know that you won't help him because you're selfish because you were raised to be like that, but all I'm asking for is that you at least _try_." I meet his eyes and there is a strange vulnerability in them, a look of hurt.

"I would help but-"

"Why can't you? You have the money."

He looks at me in great gravity. "It's impossible."

The flare of annoyance and desperation ignites again in my words. "It's not impossible. It's only because you're too selfish and proud to admit that-"

"No, Tessa. _Listen to me._" Will says, tightening his hands on my wrists.

"I know they've made cures for people whose body rejected the serum. I know they have, don't lie-"

"And I'm not going to." He answers, his voice tight and laced with frustration. "They did experiment on the three who didn't accept the serum. They did make an antidote, but-"

"But what?" I ask, my voice rising. "Where are those three? If they're still in remission-"

"They're not in remission." He says very suddenly, releasing my wrists. He turns away from me a little, his features cut out in the dimness of the hall. Before he can walk away, I grab his coat sleeve and hold him back.

"Where are they?"

He looks at me with a blank stare as if he sees nothing and presses his mouth into a grim line. "They're dead."

**~~ooo~~**

_Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away._

I toss _A Tale of Two Cities _to the end of my bed, rolling over and pressing my face into the pillow. I've read it too many times, cried too many times, laughed too many times, loved too many times; the words have lost the meaning that so they desperately wish to be read.

And suddenly something scares me inside and I reach for the book again, holding it against my chest.

To lose meaning is to lose yourself.

To fear is to be loved.

To fall is to regain your humility.

I'm a little confused, as if I've been uprooted and transplanted to another world where what was wrong was right and all the sense and upturned to nonsense. There's this pull to find Jem, to tell him I love him because I do, but it is dangerous and a ridicule to my heart. Will is what confuses me. I want nothing to do with him, yet, when I am in his presence, it is like taking a sure step forward only to feel the ground fall beneath your feet.

Strangely intimidating.

But a mistake I keep making.

_What is he to me? A suitor. A One. A new Owner. _But I shake my head silently. He is more than that now, even if I do know that he is no good for me.

"And_ yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire._" A voice pulls me from my daze and Will is standing there, staring at the book in my hands. His quotation is perfect and excellently memorized, but it is empty, just like all the words have become. They are ashes that have burned from their fire, like the Commoners and Disloyals are fighting to do in the Annihilation.

And even as the guns cease their fire and weapons are dulled, there will still be death.

So what does it matter if I, Will, or even Jem dies?

Ashes.

Ashes.

We all fall down.


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note: Sooo...I wasn't going to do this, but SO many people asked...soo...**

**Here it is.**

**A chapter of Will's perspective.**

**Please, enjoy. :)**

**Love, love,**

**MortalShadowhunter**

What is love?

By definition, love means: an intense feeling of deep affection, or, a person or thing that one loves. But it has to be something more than that, right? It has always seemed like something that couldn't necessarily be categorized like paperwork or colors or marbles, or simple feelings like frustration and mourning. Love is limitless and without definition; a free spirit-being that bounds wildly without rhyme or reason, and without consent and restraint.

I've never truly known what love is, though, when someone is raised on discipline and punished in rage, can that ever become part of them?

I've never tried.

Not really.

It is easier and safer to hate than to love.

Life, unlike what many people say, is hardly like a book, where everything has a clear ending. And even the books that have unexpected twists have satisfying endings, but in the real world, people hurt, kill, break, mend, laugh, love...die, and with that, they leave strings untied and people confused. When I am in a moment of confusion and I feel directionless, I have always pretended that I am a book character; it is easier to think of what they would do.

But they cannot help me now; not when my mind is being torn along with my heart and all the books that I read cannot tell me what to do, not even wretched Sydney Carton who has suffered almost every dilemma in love.

Love.

Scribbling down a signature on a document, I laugh a little at my pathetic nature and the ink scurries across the paper. A small, black spot spreads across the corner of the sheet and I sigh, finishing my signature anyway and setting it down in a pile. It doesn't really bother me; not right now, when all I can think of are gray eyes and accusations. They've never hurt this much until now.

I've read about characters driving themselves mad with regret, anger, love, hate and an assortment of other things...I have read about how they feel and how they see bits of themselves spiraling off into the black when they try to take a sure step forward, but they never say how it eats them up inside until you can see the black behind your eyes and the eyes glaring at you in the dark and a breeze becomes a storm and distaste becomes hatred. They never say how you are cut into little pieces with merciless decisions and how it can awaken the nerves in your soul that have rotten and putrefied along with it.

They never say how much sickness the mind can take before it is infected.

Or how much pain a heart can bear before it is broken.

Or how many sins a soul can hold before it is condemned.

Standing up, I discard my pen into a holder, careful not to accidentally drop it down the uncomfortable crevice between the desk and the bedroom wall. Pushing my chair in, I glance down at my watch and scowl.

_8:00 o'clock PM. _

_God damn it. _

Throwing a coat on and pushing my door open, I hurry silently down the hall past Tessa's room. She's in her bed, clearly distraught...I don't blame her, though. Careful not to disturb her, I step quietly down the slick, white hallways so my footsteps don't echo into her room. I've almost forgotten about the secret meeting, and I'm hoping desperately that my father hasn't found out what I've done.

But when I arrive at the side room, I am glad to see that Charles Fairchild is the only one there.

"Mister Herondale." Charles says with an awkward nod, acknowledging my presence. "I've gotten the research you've requested."

"Everything?" I ask, gesturing for him to sit at the table. I lick my lips, looking at him darkly as I take a seat across from him. "You do understand you can't tell anyone. It wouldn't just endanger my status, you know."

"Of course." He says, and I know he's just hoping to get better relations with a higher class family than his. "There isn't much that I found on what you wanted me to find, but it is a start." Pulling out some sheets and tests, he points out a few things on the paper.

"And so the serum is-"

"Like a disease." Charles finishes. "And those who are immune to it end up attacking themselves. They become something other than themselves and they loose who they are because their immune system is attacking their nervous system. While some people against the serum call this tolerance to the serum good, the ones who cannot accept the drug are changed...Their nervous system is infected."

"Of course, but to reverse the effects of this 'infection'...'disease'...Whatever you call it...How would you do that?"

He swallows and slides the papers across the table to me. "You see, the serum is strong, and to counter it, I would need resources-"

"Which I can provide." I say suddenly, a waver in my voice. "Please. I need you to do this for me."

His eyes darken and he frowns. "You don't understand the risks, Mister Herondale. I don't know your motives or your sudden reason for needing a cure for whoever got the serum and is fighting it, but all the people who have been immune have died. We've tried to save them and we failed."

My motives for this...motives...motives...What are my motives? I want to say that Tessa is my motive, but she can't be. She _shouldn't _be. My father has told me countless times to never fall in love with my One, and to turn them away repeatedly so they will never grow attached, but merely watchful and respectful and loyal...but never a motive for my actions. _But she is. _This is why I am doing this...right?

I've broken her repeatedly.

I've hurt her, lied to her...everything, and all because of word of what my father said. She...she's different from all my other Ones, though. She is what I will allow myself, and even though I know that I cannot, will not, and shouldn't be forgiven for what I've done, still, she should know that I have tried.

"Find a cure." I say, raising my head. "I don't care about the risks, but someone is dying and needs you to work on a cure...please."

After what seems like an eternity, he nods. "I'll do it."

And with that, I sigh in relief and put my head in my hands.

I'm trying, Tessa.

I'm trying.


	36. Chapter 36

**Okay. It's taking me so long to write. I know...Kill me now. Ugh...**

**But, on a completely other note, thanks for the support. :) It means a lot and I'm hoping that I get to fit in more chapters soon. :) Also, check out my new story *******That Fire of Fire*******(which I'm actually spending time on to attempt to write decently) and I do hope you guys like it. **

**And, check out Jillessa Heronstairs' ****Tess, the Writer, Tessa, the Musician**** and her other older stories ****Love me, Hate me, Believe In Me**** and ****A Real Life Movie****. I've beta'd a few of the later chapters and, as someone who gets the inside scoop of her stories, they're fun quick reads for both Jessas and Wessas. :)**

**Also, I'm super duper sorry for being such a procrastinator and forgive me for this short chapter. **

**It's so short. Screw my life.**

**Love, love,  
The freaking writer of this...this...whatever the hell this thing is called.**

He's different.

He's just not...my Jem anymore.

But I tell myself that beggars can't be choosers.

Even so, the words we exchange on his good days are equally comforting and I can't help but visit every night though Will tells me otherwise. However, even he hasn't been out and about lately, always holed away in his studies or in meetings that he never takes the time to explain. Then again, he never explains anything and I'm used to being left in the dark. _About everything._

"Tessa. Are you alright?" Jem asks, his paling eyes cautious. "You seem lost today."

I glance over at him, and shake my head. "No. I'm quite fine...Just a little...distracted...You know how my thoughts run away from me sometimes." I say, trying to ignore the look he gives me; the kind of look that he always gives me when he knows that I'm not telling the entire truth or hiding something from him. "Trust me." I reassure him. "I'm fine. If there was something truly wrong, I would have told you already."

"I...Okay." He offers a weak smile. "I trust you." He says, standing up from his chair to shut the window. I shift in my own chair so I can see him better, trying to think of something to say. He beats me to it, though, glancing back as he fastens the latch closed. "Are you cold? I didn't know if you were but it's quite brisk outside."

"Oh, I'm fine...I'm a little cool, but I'm okay." Reaching up, I push a stray curl behind my ear, biting my lip. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to escape yet. Most people would be out of here the second they arrived if they could."

He laughs softly, if a little bit reservedly. "But Tessa, I'm not a prisoner here. I could leave if I wanted to."

"But Will-"

"Has told me that he means no harm and that he is working to improve the current...situation. Besides, what bad could come from staying here for a while. He did, no matter how unkindly, save me from getting Convicted even if it was what I deserved. I am indebted if it means that I get to speak to you, see you, and even recognize you-" his hand goes up to touch the injection site subconsciously, "-for the time I have left."

"Don't say that." I say, fighting the scowl that creeps onto my features. "He's a liar. You'd be better off away from here."

"I trust him." Jem says calmly, turning around towards me. "I don't know why, but I do. I trust him."

"You don't know what he's done." I snap, suddenly angry. "He doesn't deserve your trust. He doesn't deserve anyone's trust."

"Tessa." He says softly, taking my hands in his. "Everyone needs second chances. In my mind, I know he isn't a good person. _I know _that he has done less than honorable things, but in my heart, I cannot help but feel that he can help us. Help me...help you...help himself."

"And now you're on his side?" I say incredulously. "He's an Aristocrat."

"He is a _human being_. _I've_ had my second chances." Jem says and his breathing shallows slightly, pulling one of his hands from mine to cover a cough that, thankfully, never comes. "He should have his as well."

Holding the hand that he still has clasped around mine, I sigh. "I've given out too many second chances to people who waste them. I cannot trust people as you do, James. But if you choose to tolerate this place, I will tolerate him. You have always been right for most things." _But after the serum, is he? I cannot trust his word as I once did now that he has the mood swings, the bouts of sickness, the constant episodes where he is not himself...Not Jem._

"Thank you." He says, giving me a small smile that I've always trusted. "I'll help you find a way to get out. I just don't want you to make any decisions that you'll regret in the future."

"I know." I say softly, looking down. "I trust you."

**Author's Note: Okay, once again, I'm going to apologize for the shortness of the chapter. Literally, I timed this and I wrote it in fifteen freaking minutes so there might be mistakes and whatever.**

**I'm also going to remind you guys again to check out my new story That Fire of Fire, which I will hopefully be updating more frequently.**

**Ciao!**


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